Ginny Weasley and the Sealed Intelligence
by BayesWatch
Summary: Continuation fic of Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality. It's Ginny Weasley's first year at Hogwarts, and before she knows it, she is caught up in matters too grave even for a second year Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres.
1. Different Priors

This is a fanfiction of a fanfiction; what have I become? I heavily recommend reading Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality before this fic, as this is a direct sequel to it. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, Eliezer Yudkowsky has thankfully forfeited ownership of the methods of rationality to humanity in general, and I own very little, being broke.

Themes that may trigger traumatic associations in some readers are present in chapters twenty two and twenty four.

* * *

_muttering to themselves, constantly_

_a growing grid of points in space_

_arranged with perfect regularity, and no gaps_

_ignoring the world around them and each other_

_now it is complete_

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had seven children and were perfectly content leading lives they considered perfectly normal, thank you very much. Arthur Weasley had a desk job at the Ministry of Magic, where he gave people notice that they had illegally modified Muggle artifacts and would have to pay a fine or face the Wizengamot. His favorite hobby was illegally modifying Muggle artifacts – in the privacy of his own home, of course. He was very familiar with the network of enforcement wards he would have to avoid to avoid being caught, and this familiarity was his favorite perk of his job. Despite Arthur's fascination with Muggles, he did not know any, nor had he ever spoken to one for longer than five minutes. The Weasleys were a well-known pureblood family, and few of Arthur's friends were Muggleborn - "not that there's anything wrong with that," he would add.

Molly Weasley was a housewife, and as she was the mother of a family of nine, one can see how this would consume all of her time, even if they were rarely all in the house at once – the summer holiday could really be hellish. Her eldest, Bill, was living at home; he had been fired from a promising Gringotts position years ago for psychological reasons and would probably not find the willpower to take his medication alone. Charlie had moved out to study abroad, but she doubted she would ever see any grandchildren from him; Charlie was queer like that. But with seven possible heirs, that was not a matter of grave concern. Percy was entering his sixth year in Hogwarts, and had a promising future in the Ministry. Fred and George (members of the increasingly common demographic of magical twins) were entering their fourth. Ron was entering his second, and Ginny – little Ginevra was entering her first. With the beginning of the new school year, for the first time in many years, it would just be Arthur, Molly, and Bill at home. What a day to think about! Arthur and Molly were arguing, as they often did, about that day. They spoke sharply, and often resorted to shouting.

"I'm telling you, I knew him," said Arthur.

"I did too," said Molly. "Better, even."

"He was no great wizard," said Arthur.

"Perhaps not with magic," said Molly, "but with people."

"He tried to join the Order and was practically laughed out of the room!" said Arthur, increasingly exasperated. "Do you realize the implications of that fact? We were strapped for everything and needed all the help we could get! But he was a joke! Completely incompetent!"

"He came off that way at times," said Molly, "but he showed sparks of potential. I don't find it surprising that he shaped up eventually, let alone unimaginable."

"Sparks of potential, my arse," said Arthur. "I don't know who Minerva thinks she's dealing with, but he's not who he says he is. Gilderoy Lockhart is plainly either an impostor or a fraud, and frankly, it concerns me that he's one of the first decisions the new Headmistress has made. Dumbledore is irreplaceable, but I'd never thought so lowly of-"

"Gilderoy Lockhart is a late bloomer," said Molly. "That's all."

"A late bloomer," said Arthur. "I'm sorry, I'm not buying it."

"It is known to happen!" said Molly. "Merlin was particularly unimpressive in his younger years."

"Yes, because he was growing feeble and senile," said Arthur.

"I know Merlin was no ordinary wizard," said Molly. "But my point-"

"You don't have a point," said Arthur, "and I-"

"My point is that you're probably just jealous and trying to justify to yourself why he suddenly jumped from average midlife blah to Mysterious Dark Attractive Rising Hero and you're still stuck in average midlife blah," said Molly, all in one breath.

"Jealous?" was all Arthur got out, before he realized to his dismay that his wife did, indeed, have a point.

"If anything, I think the suspicious part about him is his ties to the Muggle world," said Molly.

"Oh, here we go on this again," said Arthur. "How many times have I told you, Molly, Muggles are mostly harmless-"

"Yes, but what business does a pureblood wizard have cavorting with Muggles?" said Molly. "I suspect that he's actually a half-blood or Muggleborn, visiting relatives-" Arthur looked at his wife as though she had just grown a second and third head and declared herself a secret hydra. "-no, Arthur, I haven't turned into a blood purist. It's just that on all of his records, he says he's a pureblood; that's what he tells people, but I think he might have had some documents forged."

"As many wizards did, to dissuade You-Know-Who from targeting them," said Arthur.

"Exactly," said Molly. "I don't think he's suspicious at all. And you can say Voldemort; he's quite dead now."

Ten feet above, in the Burrow's third-floor Potions cellar, Ginny Weasley sighed. This was her favorite hiding spot in the Weasley family's multi-story, labyrinthine, magically makeshift house, a rarely visited, secluded place where she could escape from a family she found dull and exhausting. She was lying on her back, still but restless, burning with irritation towards her parents. Ginny's mother and father often argued, and she wondered at their patience that they had never gotten divorced, but this was simply the dumbest argument she had heard them having in months. They were talking past each other, failing to consider each other's points, missing vital evidence, and failing to fully consider the evidence of which they were aware.

First off, Ginny's father was right. A failure of a wizard suddenly making something of himself later in life and becoming a household name, a legendary hero, over the course of mere months, was rather dubious. But, as Ginny's mother failed to point out, there was a massive gap in the timeline; nobody present had seen or spoken to Lockhart since the war, and few details of his life in that decade were public knowledge except that he was often known to live with Muggles. That made for a potential explanation of Lockhart's sudden rise, which Ginny's mother had missed – Muggles had a much more creative, industrious spirit than wizards, as a general matter of culture, and living among them for years might have unlocked hidden talents in Gilderoy that allowed him to make more of himself in the wizarding world. But Ginny still gave her father a point for this: there was a massive hole in the record, which could be considered "suspicious", and which her mother seemed to be desperately trying to ignore.

But second off, and seemingly evading both of Ginny's parents' notice, the Defense Professor at Hogwarts was supposed to be incredibly suspicious. Gilderoy Lockhart wasn't half as suspicious as his predecessor, Quirinus Quirrell, now known to be David Monroe. Monroe's mysterious identity and incongruous skills had ultimately proven to be part of a plot to save the school from Voldemort, and that plot had gone off without a hitch. Why did Ginny's parents think this year would be any different? Perhaps they hadn't been tracking the events of Hogwarts' previous year as closely as Ginny had.

It had all started with Harry, Harry Potter. Ginny had, of course, first heard of Harry Potter many years ago, so many years ago she could not remember the precise occasion. It was simply part of her learning about the world around her, just as she was taught of the existence of gnomes, or France, or the moon. They celebrated Harry Potter Day each year, the day after Halloween, asking each other various questions to ensure his famous infancy was not forgotten. Every year the holiday seemed a little less exciting and new to Ginny; on some level she was growing sick of all of her routines. But that had all changed around last September, when Ginny had had a brief chance encounter with Harry at King's Cross, and it truly hit her what she had intellectually known for her whole life: Harry Potter was not the mystical Power-Baby she had heard about every first of November for years, but a real person with a future ahead of him, and for that matter was only a little older than Ginny. More than that, it hit her that Harry was cute.

And so, from home, Ginny followed every scrap of information she could about Hogwarts, hoping to learn more about Harry. She accomplished her goal, finding not just accounts of his escapades but of his personality, of what he was like. He preferred to go by his full name, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, an allusion to his Muggle childhood from which he learned his unique ways. He was clever enough to outsmart He-Who-May-Now-Be-Named, and to nobody's surprise he was Sorted into Ravenclaw, torpedoing the Weasley family notion that Gryffindor was the best House. He was altruistic enough to be a Hufflepuff, though too clever, and what ultimately drove him was his deep concern for all humanity. And he was mysterious enough to do absolutely anything without so much as snapping his fingers, even winning the heart of a young dissatisfied Weasley girl who lived many miles away. Every night Ginny dreamed that he would appear at her windowsill, perhaps in a flying car - he did like enchanting Muggle devices, much as her own father did - and take her away from this hell hole.

After the Incident Where Voldemort Was Destroyed Again Under Mysterious Circumstances That Harry Probably Set Up, summer had commenced, and Harry had begun publishing a sort of periodical, the Methods of Rationality, devoted to promoting "critical thinking skills and metacognition" in wizards. Of course Ginny lapped it up. Though she had accepted by this point that a Muggleborn prodigy, Hermione Granger, was probably Harry's True Love, and her fantasies were just fantasies, she was delighted to find that the Methods of Rationality provided clarity in her life, and her hero worship of Harry continued. They simply outlined how to properly think, and how to avoid common pitfalls in the process.

They also confirmed her slowly-growing lifelong notion that there was something fundamentally wrong with her family, that only she could see. None of Ginny's siblings nor either of her parents ever seemed willing to think about a problem for even a minute. They never cared to find the optimal solution to anything, only the nearby one. Ginny touched the crucifix pendant resting on her chest and sighed. For all the irritation they provided, they were still her family, and she still loved them, out of storge if nothing else.

Someone crashed into the cellar door and began to fumble with the lock, trying to get in. Oh, what now, thought Ginny. Will this endless string of interruptions never cease? Who could this be? Bill? Fred or George?

"Is someone in there? Ginny? Stupid little sister, you know you're not allowed." Ron. As her nearest older brother continued to fail Magical Lockpicking 101, Ginny made no noise, holding in even her breath, and wished for some force, any force, to take her away from here, away from this world of noises and siblings and Weasleys. And some force did.

Ginny found herself immediately outside, looking up at the Burrow from the tall grass that surrounded it. She was far too young to legally Apparate, but, as she had not yet started her formal magical education, she was still subject to the effects of Accidental Magic, a branch of magic theorized to exist to protect children in stressful - possibly life-threatening - situations. With time, her education at Hogwarts would allow her to harness the same power, and, in fact, more, and carefully and deliberately at that.

"RONALD WEASLEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY POTIONS CELLAR?" Ginny could hear her mother's voice even from this distance and through magically-reinforced walls.

"Ginny was in here, honest!" pleaded Ron. "I was looking for her!"

"IS THAT SO?" screamed Molly Weasley. Ginny turned away from the Burrow and ran, as if from a Velociraptor.


	2. Pareidolia

Ginny had been gaining distance from the Burrow for what felt like an hour. She knew fully well that she was not actually running away from home; she had no means to provide for herself, and she was not in sufficiently serious trouble to justify her family's disowning her. Rather, she was engaging in a tactic she had long ago discovered, where if she pretended to be more distressed by the possibility of discipline than she actually was, and did something rash like run and hide, her mother would feel guilt and compensate by lightening the punishment and reassuring her that she was loved. It was a highly effective strategy that her mother had accidentally conditioned her to use.

Perhaps Ginny had overdone it this time, though. She wasn't even sure how to return home, and night was falling. She was in a strange neighborhood, but still felt a desperate need to get indoors, as wizarding areas saw all kinds of strange creatures appear in the dead of the night. Best case scenario, you meet a tame puffskein who you take home as a pet. Worst case scenario... stray mountain trolls were known to roam the streets far from their natural habitat, and eat little girls. In that unlikely-but-existent worst scenario, or a million other unlikely-but-existent worst scenarios, Ginny would be done for. The recently-constructed Peverell Family Hospital was a wonder of magical engineering and organization, but it couldn't raise the dead, only the near-dead. It was ideally suited for saving those who would otherwise die of the slow-creeping diseases of old age; the fate of accident victims was still largely up to chance. If you were dead before anyone found you, you were no better off now then you were before. (A wiser wizard might see this as a newfound incentive to take as few mortal risks as possible, to maximize his chances of immortality.) Ginny needed shelter, now.

Just ahead, beyond the cul-de-sac at the end of the road, Ginny saw an ancient undetonated Muggle bombshell, lodged in the middle of a wizard's garden. Past the garden, an enormous grave marker. Past that, a house she thought resembled an enormous statue of a horse's head.

"Oh, no," muttered Ginny, as she knew that this would be the house where she waited for her mother to find her. She could at least reassure herself that if they were serial killers, someone probably would have found out by now, unless everyone just thought it was too obvious. This house had a reputation in the local community; less mature children threw rocks, or rung the doorbell and ran. Simply looking for a place to stay, Ginny simply rung the doorbell and stood there, putting her in the company of less than 1% of the house's visitors. As she waited, she turned around and gazed again at Pandora Lovegood's grave.

"Answer the door, would you, Luna?" called the high voice of a young middle-aged wizard.

"Sure thing, daddy!" called what must be Luna's voice, and then there was a lull, followed by running footsteps. The door opened, and Ginny came face to face with the mythical Luna Lovegood, a girl her same age and height, but with blonde hair bordering on white rather than an earthy red, and much thinner and paler. "Come in."

"I'm sorry to bother you," said Ginny, stepping through the doorway and seeing Luna's father Xenophilius to her immediate left, slouched over in a chair staring intently at some sort of double-sided beetle through a magnifying glass. "I'm just a bit lost, and was looking for someplace to stay while I wait for my mum to find me."

"She'll find you here very soon," said Luna. "I can see it in your eyes." Ginny blinked; she thought she had been avoiding eye contact. "We can wait in my room if you like." Luna offered Ginny her hand; Ginny looked past her at a magically-operated printing press that was pumping out copies of the Quibbler. The headline? "GILDEROY LOCKHART DOES NOT EXIST! A NATION IS DAZZLED BY MASS HALLUCINATION!"

"Alright," said Ginny, though she pointedly ignored Luna's hand, and Luna led her to a spiral staircase, which switched from clockwise to counterclockwise, or vice versa, whenever you stopped paying attention to it. A bit of climbing later, and they were in Luna's room, sitting on the floor.

"I'm Luna Lovegood," said Luna. "You're Ginny Weasley, or else an impostor. I'm very sorry to hear about the incident with Scabbers. You must be very proud of your brother, though, for figuring out the truth about him." Ginny just stared at Luna, uncertain of what to say. "Can I see your hand?"

"Why?" said Ginny, reserved.

"I want to read your palm," said Luna. "I can get at least three good prophecies out of anybody's palm."

"So you're really a Seer?" said Ginny, trying to humor the girl, putting her hand out.

"That's what they tell me," said Luna, already getting to work, holding Ginny's hand with both of hers, carefully examining it. "I've been doing some independent study in divination; the Ministry doesn't even prohibit it- oh, this first prophecy is inappropriate for a young girl to hear!"

"What?" said Ginny, shocked. She had half a mind to take her hand back.

"I'm not even going to say it out loud, sorry," said Luna. "Hopefully the next one's better. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes! The Ministry doesn't even prohibit underage study of Divination, provided that you don't use any other types of magic in the process. I expect to become a much more effective Seer once I can use other types of magic to aid my sight, so I'm excited to finally attend Hogwarts. Right now I can't even block out the Nargles."

"Nargles?" said Ginny.

"You're going to die of magical strangulation," said Luna.

"What?" said Ginny.

"Nargles are magical creatures associated with time," said Luna. "They're always making mischief in the future, which wreaks havoc on Seers trying to do their jobs, and they eat the past after it happens. They're why you can't turn time back more than six hours."

"No," said Ginny, frowning. "What was that about me dying?"

"Of magical strangulation," said Luna. "It says so on your hand." She smiled. "In the play Othello, the Dark Wizard Othello magically strangled his wife to death with a cursed pillow, because she had an affair with another woman. So I think your best bet is to never get married." Luna considered this. "Then maybe you'll live forever!"

"That's... quite a stretch," said Ginny.

"Oh!" said Luna. "And here it says that you'll leave a part of yourself in a secret area of your school, forever. That's almost certainly Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. I don't know how you wind up in the Chamber of Secrets, it's been lost for years, and only Slytherins can go in there. Or so the legends say. As for the part of yourself you leave there... I think it's your skeleton. I know a Skeleton Removing Charm that I could learn in a few days if you need any help."

"No, thank you," said Ginny, quickly losing her grasp of what was going on. "I think your interpretations of your prophecies are making some counterproductive leaps of logic."

"Well..." said Luna, dropping Ginny's hand. "It'd be easier to leave a part of yourself in the Chamber if you had a horcrux. But my dad says I can't learn how he made that until I'm seventeen, so it's probably very difficult."

"And how do you know that the secret area is Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets?" said Ginny. "Hogwarts has hundreds of secret areas."

"It does?" said Luna, delighted. "It'll take ages to get 100% completion, then. That's delightful. Are you sure that you're just entering your first year, too?"

"Yes," said Ginny. "I'll see it for the first time this September."

"We should meet up on the train there," said Luna. "By the way, did you know that the Hogwarts Express isn't a real train? It's actually perfectly still, and enchanted to feel like it's moving. The windows are all just paintings. At the end of the ride they Apparate the entire train to Hogwarts."

"Are you sure?" said Ginny.

"I'm quite certain," said Luna. "Wait a minute. Look into my eyes." Ginny did, and Luna seemed to like it a bit too much. "Completely infested with Eye Fones. I could remove them orally, if you like."

"No thanks," said Ginny, and she scooted away.

"Alright," said Luna, "but you'll need glasses in a few years."

"I'll live," said Ginny.

"Until you get married," said Luna. "Then you'll be magically strangled."

"You came to that conclusion by citing a Marlowe play," said Ginny. "And even then the logical connection wasn't quite clear."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," said Luna.

"There's a phenomenon called pareidolia," said Ginny. "People look at random data, that cannot possibly have meaning in it, and they draw patterns as if they were actually there instead of just made up in their heads. Shapes in clouds, faces on other planets. All constellations, really."

"Constellations have meaning," said Luna. "Centaurs use them for their type of Divination, which is the most advanced in the world. I'm pretty sure I've heard of types of Divination that use the shapes of clouds, too."

"Hmm," said Ginny, stumped. Perhaps the world made less sense than she thought. "There's a series you should read," she finally said.

"Oh, I love reading!" said Luna.

"It's by Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres," said Ginny. "It's called the Methods of Rationality."

"What's it about?" said Luna.

"It's about how to think," said Ginny.

"Oh, well, I already know that," said Luna. "In fact, I know more ways to think than most people I've met. Watch this." Luna stared into space for a few moments, and Ginny held her breath. "Most random numbers are three," she said. "I bet you've never seen anyone think that way before."

"But how do you know which ways to think are correct?" said Ginny.

"Oh, they all are," said Luna. "I know because they all reach correct conclusions."

"Are you sure?" said Ginny, leaning a bit closer, nervous.

"Are you?" said Luna, leaning a bit closer, putting a hand on Ginny's shoulder.

"Mum!" said Ginny, seeing her mother in the doorway.

"Ginny!" said Molly, more relieved than upset to see her daughter.

"Luna," said Luna, and she crumpled to the ground as Ginny stood up and ran to her mother's arms.

"Thank you for keeping Ginny safe and sound," said Molly.

"You're welcome," said Luna cheerfully. "My mother is dead. Goodbye." Molly blinked twice and took Ginny out of the house, stopping only to thank Xenophilius as well; he gave her a free copy of the latest Quibbler. Immediately outside, Molly took Ginny's arm and used Side-Along Apparition to transport her home to the Burrow.

"Ginevra Weasley," said Molly, unusually, unsettlingly calmly, "what were you doing in my Potions cellar?"

"Getting some peace and quiet," said Ginny.

"Well, you certainly didn't give any of us any peace of mind!" said Molly. "It's dangerous in there!"

"I'm sorry," said Ginny, and she shuffled her feet.

"The Potions cellar is for storage of incredibly powerful and potent substances, often for many years," said Molly. "I can't even remember everything that's in there. If you spilled one on yourself, who knows what would happen?"

"I'm sorry," said Ginny once again, and this time she blushed.

"I'm actually glad you went out," said Molly.

"You are?" said Ginny, in genuine confusion.

"Of course, it's not safe for a girl your age to be out here alone," said Molly, "but you made a friend. That's how I found you; your spoon turned to 'at a friend's house' on the clock."

"It did?" said Ginny.

"That said, never run off and leave us again like that!" said Molly, and she gave her daughter a gentle smack with the Quibbler. "You scared us!"

"I'm leaving for Hogwarts in a few days," said Ginny.

"Yes, and you'll make a lot of friends there," said Molly, and she smiled. "In Gryffindor, I'm assuming?" Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Of course, mum," said Ginny.

"Not a surprise," said Molly. "The entire family has for generations."

"I know," said Ginny. Both mother and daughter came to focus on the Quibbler.

"Gilderoy Lockhart does not exist," Molly read slowly. "I think they must be misinformed. I met him. Very nice man. Very charming. Just talked to him a few days ago, actually. I'm glad he owed me a favor, because the textbook I would have bought four of was expensive as sin. That's why professors shouldn't write their own books, I'd say..."


	3. The Halo Effect

_Call for fanart! If you feel up to it, I'd love to see some fanart of my fanfic of a fanfic. If I see any before I release chapter eight, I will select my favorite (contactable) fanartist to get a cameo in chapter nine._

_Brief author's notes and a tentative trigger warning have been added to chapter one._

* * *

At King's Cross Station, near Platform 10, a group of people in strange robes were gathering and mingling – mostly teenagers, with a few adults and a few children. Two of the youngest, both girls, sat on a bench.

"And that's how I realized that we're all living inside of an ancient Atlantean mirror," said the platinum blonde.

"Hmm," said the redhead. This was a complete disaster. Luna was very nice, but Ginny was doubtful that she could even learn to reason. She was intensely devoted to a future as a Seer, and this permeated her thought processes. The line in her mind between her prophecies and her speculation about her prophecies was nonexistent. Ginny was fairly certain that, even on the topic of Divination, Luna was doing it wrong; she had read about Seers and prophecies long ago and none of that matched up with anything Luna had displayed. Her family was well-known to be superstitious, owing to the Quibbler, and believed in all sorts of magical hoaxes. ...but if she could be brought to Harry's camp, anyone could, and so there was still merit in remaining close to her. "I said earlier that you should read Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres' series, the Methods of Rationality. I still stand by that."

"You talk about Harry Potter a lot," said Luna.

"He's a prominent thinker and is involved in many current events," said Ginny.

"There's a boy you should meet," said Luna. "He already went to the platform and got on the train; I showed him where to go."

"Harry Potter?" said Ginny, quietly.

"No," said Luna, "but close. His name is Colin Creevey. He's a first-year, like us, about our height, blond. Muggleborn, but carries a magic camera he bought at Diagon Alley absolutely everywhere. You should look for him." Diagon Alley had been uneventful, except for an occasion when the family accidentally took a shortcut through Knockturn Alley and a homeless layabout had taken the opportunity to try to pawn off a cursed necklace on them. Ginny's parents, of course, used it as an opportunity to deliver a lecture about the dangers of unknown magical artifacts - "They can be even more dangerous than unknown Muggle artifacts!"

"Alright," said Ginny, and smiled. It was just like her mum had said; she was making plenty of friends already. And think of the devil, there mum was trying to show Ginny how to pass through the barrier safely. "I already know, mum, I've seen my brothers do it every year."

* * *

Cedric Diggory was in a compartment of the train that contained several fifth year Hufflepuffs, mostly boys. They were discussing Gilderoy Lockhart, their new Defense Professor, when Cho Chang walked in.

"I've found several discrepancies in his record," said Cedric.

"Whose record?" said Cho. Cedric's head swiveled around, and lit up when he saw Cho; they had become close over the summer and had written each other many letters.

"Cho!" said Cedric. "We were just talking about Professor Lockhart, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor."

"Oh no, not you too," said Cho. "Have you been reading the Quibbler?"

"No," said Cedric, pointedly, "and I'm quite certain that Professor Lockhart exists, thank you. There are just some details about his past that don't add up. No more than last year, though, so it's not necessarily bad. Light background checks for Defense Professors are a Hogwarts tradition at this point; the question is just whether their hidden plot is for good or for evil."

"I'm sure if Lockhart has a hidden plot it's for good," said Cho. "Have you heard about all of the things he's done?"

"That's exactly the problem," said Cedric. "He's done too much in too short of a time, without reasonable explanation. If he had performed one unexpected heroic act, that would be perfectly normal. But within the past year, he has performed over a dozen seemingly unrelated heroic acts, claiming that he simply stumbled upon people in need of his help during his travels. By the power of Bayes, we can determine that there are far more worlds resembling ours where there's some secret explanation underlying all of Professor Lockhart's exploits than worlds resembling ours where it's all some coincidence. Some kind of trickery is involved."

"Gilderoy Lockhart is an honest man," said Cho, at least a bit offended.

"How do you figure?" said Cedric.

"Have you read what he's written?" asked Cho. "Have you seen him speak? There just aren't any liars that good."

"Cho, are you listening to what you're saying?" said Cedric. "It's ridiculous. Of course there are perfect liars out there, just like there are perfect Occlumens. You know that. You're supposed to be the Ravenclaw here." Cho frowned. "Are you accounting for the halo effect?"

"What?" asked Cho.

"The halo effect," repeated Cedric.

"I don't know what that is," said Cho.

"There's a series of articles you really need to read," said Cedric. "They're called the Methods of Rationality."

"Oh, that newsletter that Harry has?" said Cho. She smiled.

"Yes," said Cedric. "It's very insightful. I think you'd get a lot out of it." Well, if Cedric was recommending it this strongly, Cho would have to see what the fuss was all about. She didn't agree with Cedric about everything, but he was in the folder in her brain labeled "worth listening to".

* * *

Colin Creevey was traveling from compartment to compartment, never sitting down, taking pictures of anyone and everyone he saw on the train, from a very confused Draco Malfoy to the Chocolate Frog struggling to make its way out the window with one of its legs bitten off. The countryside went by and large unphotographed; it looked nice but it wasn't magical. Finally, though, he stopped, because somebody spoke to him (and not even to ask what he was doing, this time!), a red-headed girl who caught him as he was boarding yet another car.

"Colin Creevey?" she said.

"Yes?" said Colin.

"I'm Ginny Weasley," she said. "Luna Lovegood told me about you."

"Oh, the girl at the station!" said Colin. "Then you must know that I'm Harry Potter's biggest fan." The girl frowned.

"Um," said Ginny. "No. I am. And he prefers to go by his full name, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres." Now, Colin frowned. What an idiot he had been to ignore that most of the other children there had had eleven years to learn about every aspect of the magical world, not just one summer. He probably wasn't the best at or the most of anything.

"Oh, really?" said Colin, hoping to save face, but knowing it wouldn't end well.

"Yeah, really," said Ginny. "What type of animal temporarily killed Harry's best friend?"

"Mountain troll," said Colin, and he sat down; Ginny followed suit.

"What's the third Method of Rationality?" said Ginny.

"Noticing confusion," said Colin, surprised to be growing more satisfied as Ginny grew more desperate. She struggled to come up with a third question.

"Which of the following three things hasn't Harry done," started Ginny. "Led an army, frightened a Dementor, spoken to Voldemort."

"It's got to be 'frightened a Dementor'," said Colin. "They're extinct."

"Only as of this summer," said Ginny, smiling, victorious. "The answer was 'spoken to Voldemort'." Colin looked like he was about to cry, and at that point Ginny realized her mistake. "I'm sorry! I'm sure you'll learn more about him. You've only known about magic for a few months!"

"Will I ever catch up with you?" said Colin.

"Harry was raised by Muggles and he's a long ways ahead of us," said Ginny.

"But he's Harry Potter," said Colin.

"And you can too," said Harry, strolling into the compartment.

"What?" said Colin.

"I'm not saying you can literally be me," said Harry. "There's a one-Harry-Potter-limit. But when I walked in you were dismissively saying 'but he's Harry Potter' to imply that something or another was out of the reach of anyone else. And that's not true. Anybody can do pretty much anything I've done, if they put their mind to it. You just need to use the Methods of Rationality. And sometimes take some extra electives – and you can't get those until your third year – okay, there's definitely some stuff I've done where I had the advantage. But don't count on that. Assume everything is possible and the question is just how."

"Are you going to sit down here?" said Colin.

"No," said Harry. "Just passing through." He turned to Ginny. "Hmm... let's see... red hair and a hand-me-down robe. Are you by any chance a Weasley?"

_He's so smart_, thought Ginny, and she nodded.

"I knew it," said Harry.

"Ginny," said Ginny. "Nobody's quite like you, Harry James Potter-Evan-Verres."

"Hey, that's my full name!" said Harry. "Nice! But you can just call me Harry. Or Harry Potter, if you want to be formal."

"Alright, Harry Potter," said Ginny.

"And even if nobody's quite like me, everyone's at least mostly like me," said Harry. "And all of the really important parts, the parts that make us human."

"I want to be Sorted into Ravenclaw, just like you," said Colin. "Because the search for knowledge is what makes humans higher than other animals."

"The other Houses have important qualities, too, though," said Harry.

"As long as I don't go to Slytherin," said Colin. "Like You-Know-Who and his You-Know-Whats."

"Slytherin is actually my favorite House after my own," said Harry. "Ambition and social behavior are also attributes that set us apart from animals. I was nearly Sorted there, you know."

"I'm hoping for Slytherin – just kidding! - Ravenclaw, myself," said Ginny. Harry blushed.

"And Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are nice, too," said Harry. "It's important to stand up for what you believe in, and altruism is central to my worldview. If one of the Houses was inherently better than the others, then there'd be no point in having four of them. You just have to pick the one you think is the best fit for you. And with that, I think I'm off." Harry left, and Ginny stared at the empty space he left. There was a faint "bloody 'ell, it's 'arry Potter!" from the next compartment over.

"Well, I don't know what House I'm going to go to after that," said Colin.

"It seemed like you'd thought out going to Ravenclaw pretty well," said Ginny.

"Yeah, but didn't you hear all of those good things he said about the other Houses?" said Colin. "He even said Slytherin was his second-favorite House. Maybe now that You-Know-Who is vanquished and his followers have been killed or humbled, it's the best House."

"He even had nice things to say about Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," said Ginny. "Total neutrality. It's like he didn't want to unfairly bias us. Awfully nice of him. Maybe he should have gone to Hufflepuff." Ginny laughed, to make clear that she wasn't serious, and then laughed some more, to make clear that she understood how awkward her previous laugh had been, and then she stopped, to avoid getting trapped in a perpetual-laugh-cycle.

"Trying to minimize the halo effect," said Colin. Ginny looked at him, very carefully.

"Okay," said Ginny. "You can be Harry's second-biggest fan."

* * *

"Draco?" said Luna, working her way through the crowded, otherwise completely-Slytherin car as the train came to a complete stop at Hogwarts' station. A greasy older boy named Lesath sniffed her hair as she squeezed past, which she did her best to ignore; she tried to tell herself that he was just checking her for Wrackspurts, even though she knew it wasn't true. She finally found and threw her arms around the Last Scion of Malfoy, who squirmed to get away from her, but said nothing, half in distress and half in confusion. "I'm so sorry to hear about your miscarriage. But it'll be okay." And with that, she left to find Ginny_._


	4. Untested Solutions

"Anoni, Karissa!"

Pause.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Ginny was growing increasingly anxious at the first years' table, which was slowly but surely shrinking, as one student after another was Sorted. She wasn't certain whether she wanted to go to Ravenclaw or Slytherin, and she was discussing this dichotomy with Luna, who could not care less.

"And then," said Ginny, "he even put in a good word for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff! What do you think?"

"I think I'm probably going to Ravenclaw," said Luna. "That's where I wanted to go before I'd heard Harry's opinion on anything. Where did you want to go, before Harry was Sorted?" Luna was at least a little dismayed that her new friend's decision hinged on the feelings of a boy.

"Well..." said Ginny. It was a tough question, and one she hadn't fully thought out. Her family had of course always wanted her to go to Gryffindor, and somewhere in the back of her mind she had always wanted to go to Slytherin, just to spite them. But that was a terrible reason to select a House – and, speaking of reason, Ravenclaw was the House of reason. Or was it? Slytherin's secondary attribute, after ambition, was cunning, after all. Not to undersell the value of ambition – any time someone treated ambition as evil, it hurt the logical part of Ginny immensely, because how could anyone get anything important done if they didn't plan to get anything important done? You couldn't leave the important things in life to accident. "Probably Slytherin."

"Then go to Slytherin," said Luna. "I'm going to Ravenclaw." Ginny wanted to tell Luna that it wasn't that simple, that you didn't just pick a House and go there. But she didn't say anything; they had already been talking too much. Students were supposed to be completely quiet during the Sorting ceremony. But, then again, the first years' table was far from the loudest; the Ravenclaws could scarcely contain themselves in their excitement to see Hermione Granger, for obvious reasons.

"Creevey, Colin!"

Colin proved to be quite the hatstall, proving the point Ginny had not said out loud. The decision was complicated and really came down to whatever it was that happened under the Sorting Hat. Harry Potter had been one of history's greatest hatstalls, last year, but it was still not uncommon for a student's Sorting to take a full minute. It was seen as a sign of intelligence, that one was a Deep and Interesting and possibly Dark person. Ginny was certain that she would be a considerable hatstall herself.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Colin Creevey was far from the Slytherin stereotype, but Ginny had a feeling that, with the fall of Voldemort, that stereotype would be fast dissolving. There was a loud and unnatural scream when Colin was Sorted, and, come to think of it, there had been a similar scream each time a student was Sorted into Slytherin. At first Ginny had assumed it was simply the Slytherin students cheering for their new classmates, but that couldn't be it, not at all; it didn't sound quite like a human scream, and it wasn't coming from the Slytherin table's direction. It seemed to be coming from the Sorting Hat itself, or perhaps from the stool on which the students being Sorted sat.

At this point, Ginny Weasley became hedonically aware: was someone, perhaps, trying to convince her not to go to Slytherin, sabotaging the Sorting by forcing her to associate that House with unnatural screaming? Well, it wouldn't work, now that she was aware of it. She would make her decision entirely on her own terms, ignoring whatever this mysterious screaming agent wanted her to do. Perhaps it was her mother – that was who she generally associated with screaming punishments. But that wouldn't make any sense.

"Lovegood, Luna!"

One of the shortest pauses in recent memory.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Poor thing, Ginny felt sorry for her. Ginny had known that she was rather dim, but to have it made obvious to the world like that with such a swift Sorting? A better-designed Sorting Hat might have pretended to deliberate for a few more seconds. Of course, the correlation between hatstalls and prodigies wasn't perfect. General personal confidence could considerably shorten Sorting, and that was of course not necessarily a sign of low intelligence. It was a very Gryffindor trait, though, which Ginny found generally distasteful.

"Weasley, Ginevra!"

Ginny got up from the first years' table for the first and last time in her life, and proceeded directly to the stool, facing her peers. She could see Luna at the Ravenclaw table, being accidentally harassed by the Grey Lady and appearing the most distressed Ginny had thus far seen her; it looked odd on a person who so defaulted to cheer. But Ginny was taken away from her observation of the Great Hall when the hat was placed on her head and the telepathic process began.

_Can you put me in Slytherin – Just kidding! - Ravenclaw, like Harry Potter?_

_ "No,"_ said the hat, beaming it directly into Ginny's brain. _"Never again. That was a particularly unpleasant occasion for me, and I do not wish to repeat it."_

_ Oh,_ thought Ginny. _Well, then. I'd prefer to go to Ravenclaw, but I'd also be willing to accept Slytherin, if you saw fit._

_ "Well,"_ said the hat. _"That was simple. _SLYTHERIN!"

Something screamed directly into Ginny's ears, at her head from all angles, and she gasped and fainted.

* * *

Ginny was revived within minutes, in a small room just besides the Great Hall. There were three others in the room, and as her consciousness returned to her, she made out their forms, one by one. First, Professor Flitwick, the Head of Ravenclaw House, who happened to be of goblin descent.

"Oh, dear," said Professor Flitwick. "I am so sorry. This is all my fault."

"What happened?" said Ginny.

"You were knocked out," said the second figure, who Ginny quickly came to recognize as Madam Pomfrey, the school's Healer, "by an extreme magical stimulus. You haven't gone blind and your eardrums weren't ruptured, but something sensory overloaded your brain. A noise." She glared at Professor Flitwick.

"I, ah, placed a Charm on the Sorting Hat, for security purposes, and it malfunctioned," said Professor Flitwick, in his typically high voice. "Can I disclose more information?"

"I believe so," said the third figure, who – oh my God. The third figure was Harry Potter. Ginny Weasley had woken up from a fainting spell to discover that Harry Potter was standing over her, trying to be reassuring. This was the best day of her life. Hogwarts would be great.

Something unintelligible came out of Ginny's mouth, although the final words were certainly "Harry Potter".

"Centuries ago," Professor Flitwick began, "Salazar Slytherin had a falling-out with the other Founders of our school. He was still highly respected, of course, or else his House and his good standing in our memory would not have been preserved, but legend has it – and it has been recently confirmed – that before he parted ways with the Founders, he built a back-door into the wards of Hogwarts, some mechanism of sabotage for his heirs to use for unknown purposes."

"The Chamber of Secrets," muttered Ginny.

"Precisely," said Professor Flitwick. "We do not know what the Chamber of Secrets is for, exactly. It's a secret, after all. Perhaps it contains a weapon, or perhaps it contains some magic that could be used for good or ill. Legend has it that it contains Slytherin's Monster, an immortal or at least long-lived being consistently described as particularly dangerous and intelligent, and in any case it is not in the interest of the school to permit students to use the Chamber for whatever purpose it might have."

"Alright," said Ginny, still confused.

"It was discovered the prior year," said Professor Flitwick, "that instructions on how to locate the Chamber had been built into the Sorting Hat, in Parseltongue. It seems Slytherin had placed a Charm on the Hat, so that whenever a student was Sorted into Slytherin House, a hint was whispered to them, on how to locate the Chamber. If the student was a Parselmouth, they would be able to understand it. For all others, mere hissing, which would seem to them thematically appropriate and therefore not worth noting. I located the precise Charm he used; it was a particularly simple and clever Charm of his own invention. Unfortunately, it may only be removed by the caster; however, I overrode it with my own version of the Charm. I am not a Parselmouth and therefore cannot speak Parseltongue, but I am still quite able to create white noise in that language. So I Charmed the hat, and the stool, and the stage, and the air around the hat, all to make white noise in Parseltongue whenever a student was Sorted into Slytherin, to drown out the instructions for locating the Chamber."

"At first everyone just assumed that you'd fainted because you were surprised or upset to be sorted into Slytherin," said Harry, "but I immediately deduced what happened." So Harry had been her savior. "Because I'm a Parselmouth, myself, because of how Voldemort marked me when I was a baby. So I heard everything the same way you heard it."

"It hadn't occurred to me that people capable of understanding Parseltongue would hear it in a louder register," said Professor Flitwick. "It must have been absolutely deafening for you, and I'm very sorry for that. I'll remove my Charm and we'll find an alternate solution at once." Ginny struggled to comprehend this.

"Are you saying that I'm a Parselmouth?" said Ginny. Her family would be very displeased by this, but if she cared what her family thought, she wouldn't have gotten herself Sorted into Slytherin.

_"Can you hear thiss?"_ said Harry.

_"Yess?"_ said Ginny.

_"Then you hear ssnake wordss." _said Harry.

"Oh," said Ginny, and she continued to sit there, taking this all in.

"Are you alright?" said Professor Flitwick. "I know this might all be a bit much. I was very surprised to hear you Sorted into Slytherin; everyone took it for granted that you would be a Gryffindor, and I wouldn't be surprised if that included yourself."

"I'm fine," said Ginny. "I was Sorted where I wanted to go, more or less. And I'm getting my bearings."

"Glad to hear it," said Professor Flitwick. "Then I only have one more question for you. Did my Charm succeed in preventing you from hearing the clue? Do you remember any kind of speech at all in the moment between your Sorting and fainting?" Ginny struggled to remember, but couldn't. It had almost certainly been drowned out by the other, louder hissing noises, and if it hadn't, she would have been too distracted to pay attention to it.

"No, I don't," said Ginny. Madam Pomfrey grabbed her and stared into her eyes, and she could feel her mind being invaded.

"She's probably telling the truth," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Then unless there's any other way we can help you," said Professor Flitwick, "let us return to the feast." Harry helped Ginny get up on her feet, an experience she loved, and all four returned to the Great Hall.

"Goodbye," said Harry, as he made his way to the Ravenclaw table and parted with Ginny, who went to the Slytherin table. Ginny was hoping for a "see you around", but "goodbye" would have to do. Ginny sat down between Colin Creevey and Tracey Davis, and very quietly, as Gilderoy Lockhart, the Defense Professor, was speaking.

"Now, can anyone tell me what foreshadowing is?" said Professor Lockhart, finishing up. A few students heartily laughed. "I'm just teasing! Have a great year!" Lockhart sat down, and the Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, stood up. The room fell completely silent.

"There are several other replacements in the faculty this year," said the Headmistress, "as I am sad to report. As you all know, this is my first year as Headmistress, after Headmaster Dumbledore's loss to Time at the end of the last term. I cannot very well go on serving as Headmistress and Hogwarts' Professor of Transfiguration simultaneously. It was difficult to find a suitable candidate for my replacement, and ultimately I have been forced to select one of the youngest Hogwarts Professors in history. Please welcome Nymphadora Tonks, your new Transfiguration Professor." Tonks stood up, and there was a round of applause. "Many of you know Professor Tonks, as she attended school here only last year. She is very young and will need to be supervised, by myself and by others, for some time. But I know Tonks personally and I have no doubt that in time she will stand with all of the great Transfiguration Professors Hogwarts has employed."

"Thank you, Headmistress," said Tonks, who then sat down.

"Professor Kettleburn, of Care Of Magical Creatures, will serve as the new Head of Gryffindor House," said Headmistress McGonagall. "Rejoining our staff this year is Professor Slughorn, who will serve both as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House in the wake of Professor Snape's unexpected retirement." The new Potions Master, a timid but apparently bright man who looked something like a turtle, stood up and waved. "And, finally, we would like to welcome Professor Columbus, who will be teaching History Of Magic this year, owing to Professor Binns' mysterious and unfortunate disappearance over the summer. Now, in the memory of the late Professor Binns, the feast may begin!" Food appeared before all of the students, and it was far more than Ginny had ever seen in one place.


	5. Dis-

_Dear Mum,_

_ I've been Sorted into Slytherin. I hope you're not upset. Is there any reason I would be a Parselmouth, though? They checked to see if I speak Parseltongue and it turns out I do. Here's hoping you can resolve my confusion. Hoping Bill is well!_

_ Love,_

_ Ginny_

Ginny sealed her letter and, on an offer from Blaise Zabini, paid a Knut for a Public Encryption Charm in case it was intercepted. She then had it sent to the Owlery just before the feast ended and the students were shown to their dorms. Nothing quite felt real. Ginny became disillusioned with Gryffindor house long ago, but she had never felt more distant from her family than she did now. What kind of Weasley was quickly Sorted into Slytherin and spoke Parseltongue, anyway? Not that speaking Parseltongue was actually evil – Harry Potter did, after all – but what was Ginny thinking? The Potter family hadn't spoken Parseltongue; Harry only did because Voldemort had. Ginny tried to imagine Godric Gryffindor approaching her, kneeling down, and telling her in a very serious tone that she was a bad person. On some level, she wouldn't even care. Godric Gryffindor had been the worst Founder, anyway. He couldn't even cast a Patronus.

On the way to their dorms, Luna briefly broke away from the Ravenclaws to meet Ginny. She was absolutely beaming, radiating happiness beyond her normal personality.

"Ginny!" called Luna. "I was wrong about you! One of the prophecies on your hand! The one I didn't tell you because I thought it was inappropriate! I misinterpreted it!"

"Oh?" said Ginny.

"It said you'd be a friend of snakes." said Luna. "It meant you'd be sorted into Slytherin. I thought it meant something else." Ginny smiled, although she chose not to guess how Luna had originally interpreted it.

"But I'm still going to be magically strangled to death, though," said Ginny.

"Only if you get married," said Luna.

"Uh huh," said Ginny. "Later!"

"Goodbye!" said Luna, and Ginny thought she saw her blow a kiss, but it was probably just something else, misinterpreted. The crowd of students swirled around and into itself, and Luna disappeared.

Four left turns around the same column led to the flight of stairs down to Hogwarts' dungeon complex, which contained the Potions classes, the Slytherin dormitories, and the lake maintenance system. They were all rather dull to be dungeons, though Harry had commissioned some improvements over the summer; there were some bridges over bottomless pits, now, at least. There were full-height chain-link fences to prevent anyone from falling in, and a Human Zero Gravity Charm above the critically dangerous height, just in case. The pits were supposed to be decoration, not a safety hazard.

When Ginny finally entered her Common Room (the password: "Crocodile's Tears") she felt a twinge of regret for her Sorting. Before her stood the most miserable collection of children imaginable; only slowly pouring in were the new students and the happy (or at least happier) old ones. The first people in were the children who now lived here, the orphans of Death Eaters. Draco, who Ginny had been intrigued to meet, barely looked better; his mother had been miraculously found alive after a decade missing, but that hadn't brought his father back to life – not to mention that, however happy he was to find his mother alive, he had still only really met his new guardian this summer, and she had an entire decade of magical events to catch up with.

"Hey," said one of the oldest boys present, Lesath Lestrange, who towered over Ginny.

"Hi," said Ginny, getting distinctly uncomfortable. Did they have a different sense of personal space here in Slytherin? No, looking around, nobody else was acting like him. Weird. "I'm Ginny Weasley, I'm a first year. I just got Sorted here."

"I heard," said Lesath. "Everyone was talking about it because the Weasleys have been a Gryffindor family for so long. Congratulations on getting into Slytherin. I'm Lesath."

"Lesath Lestrange?" said Ginny. "Delighted. I heard you're a friend of Harry Potter?" Lesath's tone suddenly, momentarily changed, taking on a deadly serious, rather than casual, aura.

"I owe Harry Potter my life," said Lesath. He leaned in and Ginny got the distinctly unpleasant impression that he intended to kiss her.

"Hey! Ginny!" called Tracey, who had noticed the situation and was approaching. "Let's go in the Girls' Dormitory and arrange our stuff."

"Alright," said Ginny, slipping away from Lesath, who left sensing something amiss. What was up with him? Anyway, Ginny started through the archway to the Girls' Dormitory-

-and was stopped by a brick wall that manifested very precisely in her way. Every brick she was touching was visible, and every brick she was not was not. Fortunately, she had not collided with it fast enough to injure herself. It had clearly not been there mere seconds ago – Tracey had passed through the archway without incident.

"What's going on?" said Tracey, turning around to see Ginny slightly hurt and very confused. She ran back to the archway and faced Ginny. "That's not – that's not right." Wherever Tracey put her hands through, they freely passed through. But it seemed that the archway was just not permeable to Ginny. "Hang on, I'll get somebody." Tracey slipped back into the Common Room, and ran to the Boys' Dormitory, screaming "Lesath, what did you do?"

Ginny smacked the space in front of her repeatedly, literally running up against a brick wall. On some level she intuitively understood part of what had happened. This was Hogwarts' security measure to keep boys out of the Girls' Dormitory. For some reason, the system considered her to be a boy. But why? Ginny could not remember ever being a boy. Ginny was aware of some of the inherent differences between boys and girls, and despite having so many brothers and liking to play outdoors, she was definitely all girl. Would people notice, or if not would they still find out some other way? Would there be talk? What would people think about her? Was she ever going to get into the Girls' Dormitory? Oh no, Draco was standing behind her, watching! He'd seen her hit the empty air and manifest the brick wall! He knew! There would be talk! Draco left, having more interesting things to watch, and Ginny realized that he was a friend of Harry's, too! Utter disaster!

Professor Slughorn found Ginny on the floor near the archway with all of her things, crying. The Potions Master looked rather mortified, himself. He helped her up and spoke carefully.

"Ginevra Weasley?" said Professor Slughorn. "The door isn't working for you?" She nodded. "Don't worry. I'll get you to Madam Pomfrey at once." Ginny continued to cry on her way to the Infirmary, because now she knew that whatever the cause of her distress truly was, it was suspected to be a disease. She was sick, and would need to be fixed - if she could be.

"Professor Slughorn?" said Ginny, as they finally neared their destination. "What if I can never get in?"

"Not possible," said the Professor. "These errors can be fixed instantly; we just need to have Madam Pomfrey diagnose the problem." Speak of the devil, there Madam Pomfrey was.

"You again," said Madam Pomfrey, clearly trying to lighten the mood. Professor Slughorn whispered something to her. "Ah. Come right in, Ginny." Ginny entered the Infirmary and, as directed, sat down on a bed, while Professor Slughorn returned to the dungeons, his work complete. "Lie down." Ginny did, and she could feel a wand being moved around her. She heard no less than five diagnostic Charms performed. Madam Pomfrey muttered something to herself, and then said, "You can sit up now. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes," said Ginny, and she sat up, taking in the scene of the empty hospital ward around her. She had just lied, but not enough that Madam Pomfrey cared. She had already summoned a piece of parchment on a stand and was drawing on it as a visual aid.

"Alright," said Madam Pomfrey. "Methods of determining sex, or gender, can essentially be divided into three categories. First there's the physical, or the biological, the things Muggle doctors can check. That can be further subdivided into the anatomical - which genitalia you have, not that difficult - the hormonal - which chemicals run around in your body and muck stuff up during puberty - and the chromosomal, which I don't even completely understand. Now, all of these subsets can have their own problems, but you don't have any of those. You are completely physically a girl. Congratulations."

"Thanks," said Ginny, exactly as sarcastically as the "congratulations" she was answering.

"All of that can be fooled by Polyjuice," said Madam Pomfrey, "or, or if you're a Metamorphmagus. You didn't show up on my diagnostic as a Metamorphmagus, though, so I'm going to keep you in here overnight to make sure you're not a male impostor using Polyjuice, and then we'll call that good. Then, there's the mental aspect of sex or gender, which is partway between Muggle medicine and ours. Whether you feel deep inside like you're a boy or a girl. Partially the result of socialization, and partially the result of physical aspects like brain structure and hormonal balance and so on. Now, Muggles can only really approach this subjectively, in general, by talking to patients and asking them what they think. We can be more objective, with Legilimency, but there's still a chance that we're dealing with a perfect Occlumens. I've already performed Legilimency, but just to be as thorough _as possible_, I'll ask: have you, honestly, ever felt any confusion or discomfort with your gender?"

"Not until just now," said Ginny.

"Well, then," said Madam Pomfrey, "I'd say you're mentally female, too. That, or a perfect Occlumens. That only leaves the third way of determining gender, magical, and there's our problem. Everyone has a magical signature on their soul that says several things about them - and one of those is gender. That's what the girls' wards in our school check. Now, usually someone's magical gender is the same as their physical and mental gender. If there's a mismatch between their physical and mental gender, totally up in the air what their magical gender is. Likewise, if their physical gender is screwed up, totally arbitrary. I couldn't guess what magical gender a hermaphrodite gets. But, ever so occasionally, stuff happens. Someone is totally physically and mentally a boy, but they're magically considered a girl. Or vice versa. Not predictable at all. Looks like that's what happened to you. That, or you're carrying a Dark Wizard's soul. But I think only Harry Potter has to deal with that. Shouldn't have said that."

"So what's going to happen to me?" said Ginny, still in disarray.

"Tomorrow, when we're sure you're really who you say you are, we're going to tell the wards they made a mistake and should recognize you as a girl, and then you'll move into the Slytherin Girls' Dormitory like you were supposed to tonight," said Madam Pomfrey. "Long term? Nothing. Maybe you'll have to check a box occasionally on Ministry paperwork, or you have a slightly higher chance of having Squibs. But basically nothing. Now, get some rest; you need it. I'll bring you some tea to help you sleep."

"Thank you," said Ginny, but she did not get much rest that night. Ginny felt a profound magical dysphoria: who, really, was she? Was she really a girl? What would her parents think? What would God think? When Ginny finally drifted off, it was only by disconnecting with the world.

* * *

_Aftermath, Draco Malfoy:_

Draco Malfoy's thoughts centered on the new girl that night. Or perhaps the new boy? Draco could feel on some deep level that Ginny was a girl; she was too pretty not to be. But he had just seen an objective magical test indicating that she wasn't. That would fit with the pattern; there were far too many Weasleys and they were all boys. If Ginny were a boy, she would be-

-oh. _Oh._ Father would have to hear about-

Tim would have to hear about this.


	6. Garbage In, Garbage Out

Ginny Weasley was groggy when Madam Pomfrey got her up; she had not slept well. Her classmates would continue to sleep for another half an hour; she was being woken up early to compensate for the time she would lose transferring to her proper dormitory.

"You're good to go," said Madam Pomfrey. "You're keyed into the wards so that you can enter any girls' dormitory in the school. Don't worry about the lavatories; there aren't any gender-based wards placed on them in the first place, in case of emergencies. And we just checked to see if you're being possessed by any Dark Lords. Rest assured, you're not. Oh, and you got an owl from your mother." She handed Ginny a letter and started away, but stopped and turned around. "If anybody asks why you were here, tell them you had an allergic reaction to the interior of the Sorting Hat." Then, she left.

Ginny examined the letter; it was the distinct red color of a Howler. Well, then, she'd better open it now, in the privacy of the Infirmary, rather than waiting until she was in a more public place. Despite their nickname and reputation, Howlers weren't always sent in anger as a punishment. Sometimes, they were simply the magical equivalent of voicemail, used for messages that it was determined needed the precise inflections of speech. Nevertheless, they had a reputation for being loud and embarrassing to listen to within earshot of others. Ginny ripped the seal on the envelope, and the letter unfurled and floated in the air in front of her, and began to speak in her mother's voice:

"Ginny! I'm so sorry if I gave you the impression you had to go to Gryffindor. I'm not disappointed or upset at all. I am a bit surprised, though, of course, for obvious reasons. I didn't actually hear about your Sorting from you first – a few of your brothers wrote home about it too. But don't worry that it means that you're Dark, or we won't love you. Ginevra Weasley, you are a great witch, and I know that you will accomplish great things. You have a great sense of right and wrong, too, and you don't need to go to Gryffindor House for that. They say the winds are changing and Slytherin House might come out much better than it has been during my life. As for the other thing... I'm not going to say it out loud, because it is very much a secret, which nobody should know about. But don't worry about that, either. It was a bit of a surprise for me to hear about that, too, but not a complete surprise. Because the truth – which I should have told you about much earlier, but I never thought to, sorry – is that that's a Prewett family secret. Some of us can do that. I can't, neither of my parents could, none of your brothers can, as far as I know. But sometimes it happens. I believe your uncle Gideon could, when he was alive. Use that talent for good if it ever comes up, but stay out of trouble with it if it doesn't. Don't stress, make good grades, and have fun! I love you! Goodbye, Ginny." And the letter made a puttering sound, and ripped itself into shreds and went up in fast-burning magical flame. Well, that answered some questions as happily as she could imagine them being answered... but Ginny doubted she would send her mother a follow-up letter asking why her soul was recognized by the wards as a boy.

Soon, Ginny had packed up all of her supplies and was ready to move into the Slytherin Girls' Dormitories. On her way downstairs, she was met by her brothers Fred and George, who were also up early. They cheerfully hissed at her.

"_Very amussing_," said Ginny.

"Ooh, you hiss better than us," said Fred.

"Did they teach you that in Slytherin?" said George. They showed no sign of comprehension, confirming her mothers' claim that her brothers could not speak Parseltongue, and she tried to smile. Deep down, she still had not forgiven them for whatever mystery prank they had pulled last year (or at least that she suspected them of pulling), to get a news story printed that she was engaged to Harry Potter. The point of the prank was that it was a _joke,_ a _thing ridiculous on its face_, that there was _no way on Earth that Harry could wind up with Ginny Weasley, of all people._ She had barely been the butt of the joke at all; the real victims were Rita Skeeter and the Daily Prophet. But she had still been a butt of the joke, and it had been a very cruel joke. They knew how she felt about Harry, everyone teased her for it, especially Fred and George, who took every opportunity they could to tease anybody.

"So are you applying to run a first year army?" said George.

"Or are you too busy getting your Dark Mark done?" said Fred.

"Ron's absolutely certain he's going to be one of the second year generals," said George.

"Wouldn't count on it if I were him," said Fred. The structure of Hogwarts' Defense class was very different this year. In honor of Professor Quirrell (also known as Professor Monroe), much of the class's curriculum would be taught by the seventh year generals, who had been selected over the summer, in vast independent study sessions. The seventh year generals would also pick three generals each from each of the six lower years, and each year would fight battles similar to those arranged by Professor Quirrell. The only rule on who could be selected as a general (besides that all generals needed to apply voluntarily) was that no one could be a general in two consecutive years. The actual Defense Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, had some authority, but was more of a supplementary guest lecturer on Special Topics In Battle Magic than the true leader of the class. The true leader of the class was the still-burning spirit of Professor Quirrell.

"I might sign up," said Ginny. "I might not. I have a lot on my mind."

"Slytherins always have a lot on their mind," said George.

"You can see it in their eyes," said Fred.

"They're deciding who to help – for now," said George.

"Who to screw over," said Fred.

"How to best get their way," said George.

"How to best prevent their enemies from getting their way," said Fred.

"Ambition and cunning, those are the Slytherin traits," said George, but Ginny had already walked away. She didn't want to hear any more.

The next human being Ginny saw was Draco Malfoy, who was arguing with his House Elf about something.

"These are completely useless," said Draco, holding up a stack of papers with something illegible scrawled on them.

"Dobby is very sorry!" said Dobby, who was crouched on the floor, holding onto Draco's leg. "Dobby will do better next time!"

"No, I'm not sure you will," said Draco. "I'm not sure you understand what you did wrong. I told you to write notes on all of my schoolbooks, that I could study. Maybe that was a mistake. This is illiterate gibberish about the bindings, types of paper, fonts, formats... Absolutely nothing about the content."

"Dobby did best Dobby could," said Dobby. "Dobby is very sorry that that was not good enough."

"Dobby," said Draco, "can you read?"

"No, sir!" said Dobby. "House Elves are not allowed to learn how to read, for fear that we might launch a rebellion against the wizards! We can only read and write in shorthand. If we try to learn the regular way we shrivel up and die."

"Oh, well," said Draco, sarcastically, "I'm glad we cleared that up beforehand. Why didn't you tell me you couldn't read when I asked you to?"

"Master told Dobby to look through his books and take notes for Master to study," said Dobby, "and Dobby did his best." At this point Dobby was trying to grind his head off with the floor.

"Stop!" commanded Draco, and then his attention changed. "Ginny! I didn't notice you." He gestured for Dobby to go to his room, and he teleported away.

"Hi," said Ginny. "It sounds like you're having some House Elf trouble."

"Yeah," said Draco. "He's been in my family for my whole life, but I'm not quite used to ordering him around. I only just inherited him, when-" He stopped, and choked up.

"I heard," said Ginny. "My condolences."

"And when Mother reappeared, she decided to let me keep him," said Draco.

"My family doesn't have one, so I wouldn't know where to begin to help you," said Ginny. "My parents say it's wrong to keep House Elves, but they can't even afford one, so what would they know?"

"I think that it was wrong to make House Elves, but now that they're here, what are we going to do?" said Draco, "Commit genocide?"

"That's exactly the line of reasoning I've taken up," said Ginny.

"Yeah," said Draco. An awkward pause. "Oh, um, by the way... I noticed your problem last night. I wouldn't be surprised if someone else noticed, but I'm not going to tell anyone about it."

"Okay," said Ginny.

"It's a common enough problem, and it's not your fault," said Draco. He decided not to add "and I have no interest in destroying you."

"Thank you," said Ginny. She decided not to add "I worried about that all night."

"You seem like the kind of person I'll be interested to get to know," said Draco. "You're not like any other Weasleys I've met. I think the Sorting Hat was right to put you in Slytherin."

"Thank you," said Ginny, and she smiled.

"See you around," said Draco.

* * *

Ginny arrived in Charms class after she had selected her bed in the Slytherin Girls' Dorms, and placed her books and supplies beside it. "Selected" might not be accurate terminology, seeing as there was only one bed left, between Pansy Parkinson and the wall. But she was sure she would soon acclimate to her new home; it was certainly better than the Infirmary.

Professor Flitwick tapped on his glass with a spoon to get the class's attention.

"Good morning!" cried the Professor.

"Good morning, Professor Flitwick," said the class, half excited and half asleep.

"I'm sure you're all very excited to finally begin performing magic of your own," said Professor Flitwick, "but we will begin with basic Charm theory. Can anybody tell me what a Charm is?"

There were no Hermione Grangers in the class that day.

"A Charm," said Professor Flitwick, writing on the board, "is the opposite of Dark magic. Now, can anybody tell me what Dark magic is?" Colin's hand shot up.

"Yes, Mr. Creevey?" said Professor Flitwick.

"It's bad, evil stuff bad, evil people do!" said Colin. "It's stuff what hurts people."

"One point to Slytherin for an honest attempt," said Professor Flitwick, "but incorrect. Correct in the general vernacular, but not in an academic context. Can anybody else tell me what Dark magic is?" Nobody could. "Dark magic is magic that cares about your intent to cast it. A Charm does not."

Everyone frantically scribbled down notes copying what Professor Flitwick had written on the board; it screamed "quiz question".

"I'm not sure where the idea that Dark magic was evil and Charms were good came from," said Professor Flitwick. "Personally, I blame the Patronus Charm. It's not a true Charm – it's some of the Darkest magic out there. But it's very much associated with 'the good guys', perhaps for good reason. And then we have all sorts of tyrants going around calling themselves Dark Lords, for various reasons I find too morbid to discuss. But the truth is that, in a theoretical sense, Dark magic is magic you need to _mean_ to cast, and Charms are magics that simply do not care what you mean. You will perform both at Hogwarts."

"Of course, it's a spectrum," continued Professor Flitwick. "Many Charms have Dark qualities, and all Dark spells have Charm-like qualities. But there are many misconceptions about what these things mean. Dark spells are not more dangerous than Charms! Dark spells are more likely to be designed as weapons in the first place. But a Charm can be much more dangerous than a Dark spell, because you can cast it without thinking about it! Many wizards will simply never be able to muster the malice to cast the Killing Curse, or many other Curses. But they will be well-able to cast Charms, in combat, to kill; most commonly with Diffindo, the Severing Charm, which will sever arteries just as easily as it severs vines."

"Furthermore," said Professor Flitwick, "Charms are more dangerous _to cast_ than Dark spells, because they do not care about context, they only care that you have fulfilled the terms of the spell. Let's take a simple example, Wingardium Leviosa. Do not take out your wands, I am merely speaking about the spell. Wingardium Leviosa, the Levitation Charm, may be modeled as a simple _logic gate_." He illustrated the concept on the board. "If you say the incantation correctly, and make the correct wand movements, the target will float – or, more accurately, I suppose, the Charm will try to use some of your magical energy to make the target float; it won't do any good if the target is too large and your magic is too weak. If any of the conditions of the logic gate are not met, the Charm will not recognize it and the target will not float no matter how strong your magic is or how little energy is needed to levitate it."

"A student once asked me, 'if I point at the wrong object, will the spell apply to the correct one?'," said Professor Flitwick. "I cannot imagine what possessed him to ask such a question. No. If you point at the wrong object, the correct object will not levitate. The wrong object will levitate. The Charm does not care what you wanted to do. It only cares what you did."

_Garbage in, garbage out,_ thought Colin Creevey, who had briefly studied programming before learning of the existence of magic.

"Some Charms are more complicated," said Professor Flitwick, "and have multiple parts, which act as multiple logic gates. For example, Scourgify, the Scouring Charm, requires the proper incantation and a series of three wand movements. If the incantation is incorrect, the Charm will not be activated at all. The first wand movement performs the first part of the charm, which summons soap and water. The second wand movement performs the second part of the charm, which actually cleans the target. The third wand movement performs the third part of the charm, which dispels the soap, water, and detritus."

"The multipart nature of such Charms allows for complex failures with complex results," continued Professor Flitwick. "If the first wand movement is failed, but the rest of the charm is performed correctly, there might be some slight effect on the target, but not a significant one, because the soap and water are necessary for the Charm's functions. If the second wand movement is the only point of failure, on the other hand, then soap and water will briefly manifest but will do little. A failure in the third wand movement will leave the soap, water, and detritus in place, potentially further complicating one's cleaning needs."

"As I said, many Charms have Dark components," said Professor Flitwick, "and all Dark spells have some Charm-like qualities. Most notably, many Charms have a safety feature wherein basic knowledge of the Charm's function is part of the requirement for the Charm to activate. This is technically a Dark safety feature, and blurs the line between a Charm and Dark magic. We would all be better off if more Charms were designed with such features in mind, but you cannot count on them. Never use an entirely unknown Charm except when you are being supervised by someone who does know its function and has instructed you to use it. When using a Charm of which you have vague awareness, do not be surprised if you run into complications originating from your gaps of knowledge. Ignorance of a Charm is no excuse, and a Charm works precisely how it works, not how you expect it to work."

"A Charm is not intelligent," concluded Professor Flitwick. "You are intelligent. A Charm is a law of the universe. It has been there as long as anybody can remember, it will be there forever so far as we can predict, and it will not move to accommodate you. It will only move in its own way, and you must use your intelligence to decide when to exploit that. By next class I want a full-scroll flowchart where you tell me how to determine what I am doing wrong if I am attempting to cast Wingardium Leviosa on my chalkboard and it is not raising. Class is dismissed early, and I advise that you all take a nap."

Ginny followed the rest of her class to the dormitories, and on her bed, she considered Draco's House Elf problem in terms of Professor Flitwick's short Charms lecture. It occurred to her that, while the core of a House Elf's brain undoubtedly ran on pure Dark magic – it wanted nothing more than to do exactly what its Master wanted – most of its brain probably operated through Charms, unable to do anything but what it was told, using only information it knew in patterns it knew. In fact, Dark magic could all ultimately be reduced down to Charms – Charms where the condition of their action is a feeling in someone's head, but Charms nonetheless. By extension, all brains were in a sense entirely reducible to logic gates – but what would that mean? Ginny didn't want to think about it.


	7. Tool Use

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom felt strangely barren to anyone who had seen it last year, when it had been occupied by one of the greatest wizards ever to teach at Hogwarts. It certainly was physically set up precisely as the previous instructor had done, with a massive combined-section class (though, this time, it was all first and second year Slytherins and Ravenclaws, not all first years from all Houses) and enchanted panels throughout the room acting as monitors that would reflect Professor Lockhart's face when the lesson begun. But, though Professor Lockhart had shown no signs of incompetence yet, he was filling shoes far larger than his own, and this could be felt from a mile away.

"You're not Professor Quirrell!" cried a particularly foolish second year Slytherin student. Professor Lockhart simply nodded gravely without speaking a word. Three minutes later, there was a quick hum throughout the room as the monitors activated, and the Defense Professor began to speak. Ginny took note of one addition to the classroom that she remembered from no description of Monroe's class: some enormous object covered in shapeless cloth, behind the desk and Lockhart himself.

"Good evening, Hogwarts," said Professor Lockhart. "I trust that you have all already attended your first lesson from the seventh year generals?"

"Yes!" said Ginny, and so did all of her classmates, or at least all of them who felt like responding. It had been a particularly life-changing lecture, and it had excited her at least for the army-based portions of the Defense class. She wished she could have heard it from David Monroe directly, but the seventh years did quite a good enough job.

"Then you have already heard Professor Quirrell's introductory lecture," said Professor Lockhart. "'One Killing Curse Will Bring It Down'. Am I correct?" Another general shout of affirmation. "I read his notes on that lecture. He was a fantastic man and a fantastic Professor, and that lecture was fantastically composed. However..." The class nearly gasped. Who was this man, to append a 'however' to praise of Professor Quirrell?

"However, for all of its wisdom, the lecture accidentally implied things that are outright false and dangerous," said Professor Lockhart. "One Killing Curse will _not _always bring it down. Who can name a situation where you are in mortal peril and the words Avada Kedavra will not save your life?" Hands shot up. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"If you're facing the Wizengamot," said Harry. Professor Lockhart laughed, surprised.

"Mr. Potter has cut straight to the point," said Professor Lockhart. "Absolutely correct, though you're jumping a bit ahead. I've had my run-ins with the law-"

"I know," said Harry. "Last year I heard-"

"-but I'd prefer not to discuss them in public, Mr. Potter," said Professor Lockhart, making Harry feel very stupid. "I would like to clarify that I have never been indicted for anything and I even have the pleasure to truthfully say that I never saw Azkaban while it was an operational prison. Anyway, Mr. Potter is absolutely correct; if you are outnumbered and outgunned, the Killing Curse will not be of much help. At best you will take one of your enemies with you in death, and that is doubtful. Can anyone name another deadly scenario, preferably one related to combat, where the Killing Curse will not save your life? Yes, Miss Lovegood?"

"If you're breaking into Gringotts to save the love of your life from Minister Fudge and suddenly he jumps out from behind a rock and sends Fiendfyre at you," said Luna.

"A very specific situation," said Professor Lockhart, "and I must admit that I cannot imagine why the Minister of Magic would do such a thing. But correct. Fiendfyre is a very Dark curse that behaves like a living being but is not technically alive and is not responsive to the Killing Curse in the least. However, it dies out shortly after the death of its caster, and therefore the Killing Curse might be useful in such a situation, so perhaps it is not a good example. Does anybody else have any ideas? Yes, Miss Granger?"

"If you personally cannot cast it," said Hermione.

"Absolutely correct," said Professor Lockhart. "Many of you will never be able to cast the Killing Curse in your life; that is simply an inherent quality of your being. That does not make you a non-player in combat, and it does not make you unable to kill. A Dark Lady in the nineteenth century, a hundred years ago, thought the only tactically significant offensive spell was the Killing Curse, and foolishly neglected to put up any shielding Charms. The distraught mother of one of her victims hit her with a one-two punch, a Temporary Freezing Charm followed by Repulso, a Charm equivalent to a hard kick in the chest. She was later interviewed and it was determined that she was not capable of casting the Killing Curse – and yet the Dark Evangel was just as dead. She _shattered._"

"The Boggart is a Dark creature that hides in dark places," said Professor Lockhart. "It is rarely known to be deadly, but it is invariably frightening to those unaware of its nature, and may thus be used as a guardian to keep Muggles and particularly inexperienced wizards away. One Killing Curse will not bring it down; the form of the Boggart that you perceive is not its true form, and its true form is an adept dodger. Only the specialized curse Riddikulus will bring down a Boggart." Somewhere in the room, Harry was laughing about something.

"Professor Quirrell described the Hungarian Horntail to you," said Professor Lockhart, "but failed to mention a critical detail of its anatomy that undermined his point. As with all dragons, only small parts of the fully-grown Hungarian Horntail's neck are truly alive. Its head and the rest of its body are a mechanical construct, assembled over the course of its life by magical forces. One Killing Curse will not bring it down, not unless you hit it in the correct area, which comprises an indescribably tiny percentage of its volume. If you have ever seen a baby dragon, realize that that is your true target, when you try to attack an adult dragon with the Killing Curse."

"The Cornish pixie," said Professor Lockhart, sweeping the sheet off of the object behind him, revealing it to be an enormous birdcage full of thousands of tiny blue winged humanoids, all rather sleepy, "is a magical creature that shows some mild degree of intelligence. It is, however, generally found in groups, and as the size of the group increases, so too does its aggression. In quantities of a dozen or more, they can easily be deadly. If I released the hive that you see before you from their magical bindings, all of you would probably die; even if I were teaching a class of Aurors there would likely be some casualties. One Killing Curse will not bring it down, if by 'it' you mean the hive as a whole rather than the single unlucky specimen that happens to cross the Curse's path." Lockhart set the sheet down on his desk, and as he continued to speak, the buzzing of the pixies slowly increased in volume as the light woke them up, though it never overpowered Lockhart's own voice. "And in case you are unaware, the Killing Curse may not be fired rapidly enough to pose a threat to that hive by taking them out one by one; no curse that targets individuals may do so. Only an area-of-effect spell is a viable strategy here."

"The Dementor is a Dark creature thought to be extinct outside of captivity," said Professor Lockhart, "but this is a foolhardy and misleading way to refer to it. There is a well-known ritual to produce a Dementor from nothing, and over time, vast numbers may be bred from a single specimen. Any new, rising Dark Lord would be likely to have an army of Dementors! A Dementor is the opposite of life, and so one Killing Curse will not bring it down; instead it will thrive on it, and grow stronger and more inclined to reproduce! It was once thought that nothing could kill a fully-grown Dementor, and that it could only be repelled with a Patronus Charm. There are now two wizards in the world who have devised a means to kill a Dementor, and they are both sitting in this room. But I would not count on one of them coming to your aid if you happen to be set upon by a Dementor. The Kiss of a Dementor is invariably fatal to humans and animals and, according to some theologians, denies the recipient their place in Heaven." Ginny balked at that. No omnibenevolent God would permit such a thing. The pixies were truly beginning to stir, now; Lockhart quickly turned around and applied a Quieting Charm to their cage.

"The Lethifold is an infant Dementor," said Professor Lockhart. "It is exceedingly rare, as Dementors mature quickly and remain in the final stage of their anti-life indefinitely. It may be killed by a unicorn, which you are also unlikely to have handy when one is sicced on you, and, though it too may be repelled by a Patronus, you will not have much time to cast one; a Lethifold is undetectable by any science or magic until it has closed in for its kill; you will be at arm's length when you first notice it. The creator of a Lethifold may command it as a weapon. The only way to truly insulate your home against an assassination attempt involving a Lethifold is to seal it completely, so that not even air may enter or exit. That, or have the perimeter patrolled by unicorns twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, who will attempt to inform you of the Lethifold's presence even if they do not manage to kill it themselves. But one Killing Curse will not bring it down." Ginny thought she had heard something about the Peverell Family Hospital having a regular unicorn patrol; she wondered why neither Hogwarts nor the Ministry of Magic had one.

"The Nundu," said Professor Lockhart, and he was getting so emotional that he was visibly struggling to maintain his composure, "is a communal organism that occasionally forms from forty or more Dementors. One Killing Curse will not bring it down! One Patronus will not send it away! One wizard will not overcome it! The existence of a single Nundu anywhere in the world at any given time is a disaster beyond imagination! A Nundu is fully autonomous, and may not be commanded by anybody, regardless of their relationship to its creation! It debilitates and kills simply by proximity, and proximity is defined here in terms of miles! In times immemorial, a single Nundu could wipe out an entire nation and leave no record that it ever existed! The only known way to defeat a Nundu is through the simultaneously-cast Patronuses of at least eighty wizards – in a real-world situation, the number of Patronuses required is inevitably greater than a hundred – which decompose the Nundu into Dementors, which are comparatively very manageable! We are all very lucky that the Nundu has been kept out of the developed magical countries entirely; the creation of a Nundu in Magical Britain would be a horror on par with the detonation of an atomic bomb in London! The atomic bomb is a Muggle weapon that uses no magic at all but destroys an entire large city in a single blast! One Killing Curse will not bring it down, either!" Professor Lockhart took a deep breath, to restore his calm.

"The history of humanity," said Professor Lockhart, "and not just the history of wizardkind, but the history of humanity, is the history of tools. Tool creation and tool use are among the features of our intellect that separates the being from the beast. The Killing Curse is a particularly effective tool in combat, because the only counter to it is to dodge, but it would be foolhardy to select a single tool from your kit to use in all situations!" Lockhart paused a bit longer than he had originally intended. "When all you have is a hammer, everything begins to look like a nail, but that does not mean everything is a nail, and the Killing Curse is not always the best attack! Sometimes the tool to use is Apparition. Sometimes, the tool to use is Frigideiro-Repulso. Sometimes, the tool to use is a Lethifold. Sometimes, as the Dark Lord Voldemort, He-Who-May-Now-Be-Named, demonstrated last year using Miss Granger, the tool to use is even a mountain troll, and it is completely vulnerable to the Killing Curse! Anybody, whether they are a Muggle or a wizard or a goblin or something else, should have as diverse of a toolkit as possible, to cover as many scenarios as possible. As wizards, none of you have any excuse not to learn a wide variety of distinct spells with distinct applications. If one seems particularly generically useful, take note of that, but do not allow yourself to write off other, more specialized techniques that might someday prove necessary." The pixies' cage was beginning to vibrate worryingly.

"One last note," said Professor Lockhart, apparently, "before we begin a hands-on activity. I bet you thought we wouldn't have hands-on activities in this class, because of the system of armies. That is incorrect; though lecture is a worthwhile component of this class, I would not be a worthwhile instructor if it was the only component with which I provided you. I want to keep you all on your toes at all times, so: I am not actually here. About a minute ago, I invisibly left the classroom, in the middle of my lecture, and seamlessly replaced myself with an illusory duplicate delivering a prerecorded message, which should be ending shortly. On my way out, I sealed the classroom doors shut. The cage behind me is Charmed to open when this message ends." The false Lockhart began to flicker, and the entire class panicked. "Do not panic; the pixies have been enchanted to do no significant damage to anybody or their belongings. What precisely is meant by the word 'significant' is for you to decide. Your objective is to use any and all appropriate tools at your disposal to minimize harm to you and yours. In an indefinite period of time, I will return and resolve the situation. Good luck!" Lockhart vanished before everyone's eyes, a tiny door made of golden metal bars swung open, and if it weren't for the Battle Magic room's soundproofing, you would have been able to hear the screams clear across the castle.

* * *

_"Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"_ were the first words out of Professor Lockhart's mouth when he returned to his class. Immediately, most of the pixies froze in midair, and began to drift back into their cage. The few that didn't were dead; they had been smashed or beaten to death by crazed students using their textbooks. "A simple anti-pixie spell I invented that I didn't expect any of you to know. No need to memorize it; it is exceedingly unlikely to help you in the real world. I trust that you're all alright. Or fainted." He paused, to allow those in the class who were still conscious to readjust to the pixie-free room.

"So, let's review what you all did," continued Professor Lockhart, now standing back at his podium. "Yes, I was watching, using a monitoring device lent to me by the school. So, first, to most of you, who became so flustered that you did nothing of meaning, attempting and failing to run and hide or simply flailing around swatting at pixies futilely, you have failed this first exercise. Don't feel too bad, though, because you formed a majority both of this class and of humanity, so at least you're not alone. And to those students who spiraled into complete exhaustion by casting too many spells, I will inform you what you did wrong when you wake up; the simple answer is 'you did not listen properly to my lecture and apparently forgot that taking out pixies one at a time with magic is not a viable strategy'."

"To Miss Lovegood," said Professor Lockhart, "I do not know what the blinking device you summoned was, but judging by your condition, it was not very effective." At this point, Luna vomited on her desk; it was quickly Charmed away.

"To Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Lockhart, "your attempt to cast the Concussive Stunning Curse, Immobulus, would have been the best solution presented in the class, had it succeeded. If you would like, I can try to coach you to successfully cast it, but I cannot guarantee that you will learn it quickly. It is not generally considered a second year spell."

"To Mr. Goldstein," said Professor Lockhart, "if your lives were actually in danger, your attempt to contact Headmistress McGonagall using your Patronus would have been the correct thing to do. However, your lives were not in danger, and I had already cleared this activity with the Headmistress, so your solution was of no use to anyone."

"To Miss Granger," said Professor Lockhart, "I'm afraid that you suffered from a rather graver form of Mr. Goldstein's problem. If you had actually been in danger, your solution of hiding yourself and Mr. Potter under the True Cloak of Invisibility would have been a good one. However, in the true situation you faced, where you were in no real danger, this was entirely unnecessary, and, actually worse: the entire class and myself are now aware that you possess one of the most sought-after unique magical artifacts in the world." There were some gasps. Ginny was mostly just thinking that it wasn't at all fair that Hermione got to hide under a cloak with Harry-

"_Obliviate,_" said Professor Lockhart. "_Obliviate Maxima_." The entire class, Harry and Hermione excluded, blinked simultaneously. "I have taken the liberty of erasing your error, but I hope the lesson is understood." Ginny was not certain what she had just been thinking, except that she had been jealous of Hermione for some reason or another. Well, that was a simple puzzle.

"Yes, Professor," said Hermione.

"Good," said Professor Lockhart. "My mastery of that particular spell, by the way, nearly earned me a high-paying job in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, but I found the role of the Hogwarts Defense Professor more... appealing."

"Finally, Miss Weasley," said Professor Lockhart. "You had the winning strategy, and a very Slytherin one, too, even if I do not expect it to make you many friends. Please explain what you did, Miss Weasley." Ginny took a deep breath.

"First, I remembered that pixies are enraged by bright lights and the color red, and are drawn to targets exhibiting these qualities," said Ginny.

"Professor Quirrell would likely have called that useless trivia, but it proved quite useful to you," said Professor Lockhart.

"Then, I remembered the spell _Luminos_, which causes its target to flash red," said Ginny. "And I cast it on as many of my classmates as possible, to draw the pixies towards them and away from me."

"Very good," said Professor Lockhart. "Miss Weasley has taught the class a valuable lesson today. As the saying goes, if you are being pursued by a mountain troll, you do not need to outrun it, only your companions. I might add that it helps if you trip them. Miss Weasley has demonstrated a vast power over the others in this room in a disaster situation, and that is the power of intelligent betrayal. Ten points to Slytherin. I would like to note that she also had the lucky advantage of possessing the trivia that she did, but this models the unpredictability and unfairness of real life. Class is dismissed, though you may stay behind here for some time if you wish to rest and recover further."

A few minutes later, Professor Lockhart met Ginny on her way out of class.

"Ginevra?" said Professor Lockhart. Ginny nodded. "It's funny. You look exactly like a younger version of your mother. Except for your eyes; they're a different color." Ginny nodded again.

"They're my father's," she said. Professor Lockhart smiled.

The last two to leave class were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, both of whom had private matters to discuss with Professor Lockhart.


	8. Cult-Like Behavior

Ginny was surprised to receive an invitation to Professor Slughorn's newly-reconstituted Slug Club, a social order for those Slughorn believed had special potential; she was a first year Weasley whose most notable academic achievement so far was her performance in her first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The Weasleys were a proud family, but not particularly prestigious within the magical community; certainly not prestigious enough to help in getting a Slug Club invitation. Ginny was the only first year invited; there were few second years, either, and Slughorn was spending most of his time complaining that one of them hadn't shown up.

"I don't mean to insult any of you," said Professor Slughorn, "but he was the one I was most excited to meet."

"I could bother him about it for you, if you'd like," said Hermione.

"Oh, don't feel obligated," said Professor Slughorn. "...but I really would appreciate it."

"Professor Slughorn?" said Ginny. "I have a private question." The Potions Master smiled and lowered his voice.

"Yes, Ginevra?" said Professor Slughorn.

"Why am I here?" said Ginny. "I don't mean - I mean - I don't really see what separates me from the other first years. I haven't really done much yet. Is it just because you heard about the points I earned from Professor Lockhart?"

"I did hear about that," said Professor Slughorn. He lowered his voice even more, as he was speaking about very confidential matters. "But that wasn't the reason. I was thinking about you, in the aftermath of your little problem. And I realized a very positive secondary – or, I suppose you could say primary – implication of that problem. Have you noticed it?"

"I'm afraid that I haven't, Professor Slughorn," said Ginny.

"Ginny," said Professor Slughorn, "in magical terms, you are a third seventh son." This hit Ginny like several tons of bricks, and she very seriously wondered why she hadn't thought of it before Professor Slughorn pointed it out. Seventh sons, and recursive seventh sons, had no inherent magical properties, but they were the subject of various truly ancient prophecies, particularly third seventh sons. Families that believed in those prophecies, such as the Weasleys, were inclined to have many children in an attempt to attain seventh sons that could potentially be the subjects of those prophecies. According to the ancient definition of the "seventh son" concept, no girls could be born between any of the sons, and so it was easy for a family to get out of the running. Still, it was no surprise that seventh sons should naturally spring up more in the families that believed in the prophecies concerning them, regardless of whether they were true. "Septimus", Ginny's grandfather's name, literally meant "seventh". "Arthur", her father's name, came from a Muggle hero associated with Merlin. As far as Ginny previously understood, the Weasleys had finally run out of luck, at the last possible minute, when she was born. But apparently not, apparently that had only been the obvious interpretation, and not the true one.

"Oh," said Ginny. "I suppose that I am."

"And that, in combination with your unexpected Sorting, strongly suggested to me that you are destined for great things," said Professor Slughorn.

"Thank you," said Ginny, quietly, and Professor Slughorn smiled and nodded. Ginny slipped back into the crowd, and tried to reroute her train of thought to where it had been before. There was no immediate course of action Ginny could think to take, nothing about her current life to reconsider or change, originating from this newfound knowledge of her status as a third seventh son. Therefore, there was no point in letting it consume her. She should return to her previous directive:

"Hey, Draco?" said Ginny; she fumbled for a clipboard with a signup sheet attached to it.

"Yes?" said Draco, more intrigued already than she had expected.

"I'm forming a club for Hogwarts students," said Ginny, "and I wanted to know if you're interested."

"What is it?" said Draco.

"It's sort of a Harry Potter fanclub," said Ginny, "with a special emphasis on studying the Methods of Rationality that he's provided so we can raise our sanity waterline." Ginny had looked at the list of preexisting student clubs a few days prior, and had been surprised to find that no such thing already existed. Well, see a need, fill a need, that's how you get ahead. (More advanced Slytherins alternately use the "make a need, fill a need" formula.)

"Hmm," said Draco. "It sounds very interesting, but I'm afraid I've already met Harry Potter, and spoken to him at length. I haven't read the Methods of Rationality, but from what I've heard, I suspect he's already conveyed the same concepts in conversation with me." Ginny tried not to show her jealousy regarding this. "I suspect Blaise and Tracey would be interested, though, and I wish you good luck."

"Thank you," said Ginny, and Draco gestured farewell and left to mingle. Well, that was disappointing – it was a shame to miss out on someone so close to Harry, but at least he'd been amicable about it. Ginny decided not to ask Hermione – she probably had her own private one-person Harry Potter fanclub already. Soon, Ginny would have her own private network of people who understood her deep personal connection with Harry Potter.

* * *

"Is this a cult?" asked Sheila Carrow. Ginny wanted to bury her head in her hands in frustration, but she had too much dignity for that. She was leading over two dozen people, many of them older than herself, people who she had personally convinced to come to this abandoned classroom at this time. She would have to maintain her composure.

"No, and I'm offended by your insinuation," said Ginny.

"I'm sorry," said Sheila. Ginny nodded, and set off some small fireworks her brothers had lent her. None of them were present, despite at least Fred and George expressing admiration for Harry at points in the past; Ginny suspected this had something to do with her being their little sister. Another notable absence was Luna, who, despite her ongoing friendship with Ginny, had declined her invitation to this first meeting; although at least she had said that this was because she needed to catch up with the Methods of Rationality before attending any meetings.

"The first meeting of the Harry Potter fanclub is now in session," said Ginny. She scanned the room; the club's members were mostly from the first three years, though, to her dismay, Lesath Lestrange had also chosen to come to the meeting. Whether this was a result of his unusual interest in Harry Potter or something more sinister was anybody's guess. His presence was balanced out by Cedric Diggory, another older boy who was better-regarded. "To start out, who here has read the Methods of Rationality?" About half of those attending raised their hands. "Alright. Anyone who hasn't should by the next meeting, or at least start. They're a really quick read; you won't have any trouble getting through them."

"What are the Methods of Rationality?" asked Colin, right on script.

"I'm glad you asked," said Ginny. "The Methods of Rationality are Harry's newsletter, except, instead of covering current events, he covers techniques for how he thinks, and how we can think, if we try. How to think rationally, how to be less wrong. There's a new installment every Friday. His mission is to try to make wizards smarter on average, and given that he's Harry Potter, I think he's going to succeed, and we're going to have to keep up or else be left behind."

"What if it's a trick," said a first year Gryffindor named Karissa, "and he's trying to make us dumber so he'll have an easier time taking over the world?"

"That's an interesting hypothesis," said Ginny, "but you don't need to take Harry's tips on faith. They work through pure reason. If the Methods of Rationality told us to think in a way that didn't make sense, that would be blatantly out of line with the rest of it. Thank you for the question."

"If all of us are smarter, won't Harry have a harder time leading us?" said Lesath. "I don't want to be so stupid that I fail him, but I wouldn't want to be smart enough that I could accidentally unravel one of his plots." Ginny wasn't sure how to take this.

"Um, I'm pretty sure that's not how Harry would want you to think," said Ginny. "Read the Methods. Now, let's talk club structure. We are meeting on a weekly basis, on Mondays. My current plan is that I, Ginny Weasley, will be the Club President, and my assistant, Colin Creevey, will be the Club Vice President."

"Doesn't 'president' mean that you're elected?" said Tracey.

"Are we going to vote on this?" said Blaise.

"No!" said Ginny. A pause. "Um, maybe later if there's interest in an election we can hold one."

"I'm running for Club President!" said Blaise.

"What's the third Method of Rationality?" said Ginny. Silence. "I thought so. So. What would Harry want us to do with our time at our fanclub meeting?"

"Discuss current events, and the grievous issues facing the wizarding world?" said Colin.

"That's a good idea!" said Ginny. "What are some problems out there terrorizing the world that _you_ think need solutions?"

"Blood purists?" suggested Penelope.

"A bit inflammatory," said Ginny. "But yes, true, absolutely. Blood purism is fundamentally irrational because I doesn't match the evidence, and on top of that it's a hate movement, which is a generally bad thing to associate yourself with. Interbreeding with Muggles and Muggle-borns consistently has no effect on strength of magic; a better explanation for the slow decline of some aspects of magic is the Interdict of Merlin, which hopefully won't continue to weaken us thanks to the rise of modern communication infrastructures. I'm not sure if blood purism is really the kind of problem we can look for a solution to, though. It probably would have faded out on its own if not for the actions of Voldemort, who is finally well and truly gone, though at great cost. My condolences to all present whose loved ones died at his hands. Any other problems facing the wizarding world today?"

"Our government kind of sucks," said Tracey.

"Bureaucratic inefficiency!" said Ginny. "A truly ancient problem that Muggles have had little more success fighting than ourselves. Any suggestions on how we could reform the Ministry of Magic to be more operational?" A pause, as people thought.

"I can't think of anything," said Tracey.

"Try to think for at least five minutes before you tell me that," said Ginny.

"What if we started an intergovernmental body that slowly overtook and replaced all of the world's magical governments, including the Ministry of Magic?" said Blaise.

"That would probably just make things worse," said Tracey.

"We should try to fix the system from within," said Cho. "Vote in officials who are saner than the current average until everything improves."

"Literally everybody has been trying that forever," said Tracey.

"That's a good point, Tracey," said Ginny. "We're far from the first people to think of this problem, so we shouldn't expect to come up with a working solution in an afternoon."

"No," said Tracey. "I mean, we should try to fix the system from outside. Start a violent revolution."

"That sounds like fun," said Colin, and Ginny shot him a look.

"I heard Hermione has a phoenix," said Flora.

"She's probably going to be the next Minister of Magic," said Hestia.

"I've never seen her with a phoenix," said Ginny, skeptical and hoping to reroute the conversation to Harry-Potter-related matters.

"It's true," said Cho. "She tries not to appear with it in public but she shows it off all the time in the Ravenclaw Common Room."

"They say that's how she wiped out Azkaban," said Flora.

"Azkaban was decommissioned by the Ministry of Magic and replaced with the Azkaban Memorial Museum," said Ginny.

"Oh, so you believe the official story?" said Hestia.

"I thought one of the Methods of Rationality was to doubt everything," said Flora. Ginny screamed, and then clapped her hand over her mouth.

* * *

After the disaster that had been the first meeting, Ginny didn't want to go on, and was considering disbanding the Harry Potter fanclub as soon as possible. She very well might have, had Harry Potter himself not made a surprise appearance at the second meeting.

"I heard you started a fanclub?" said Harry. He was a few minutes early, though most of the members were already there, milling about, waiting for the meeting to start.

"Yes," said Ginny, and blushed. Harry Potter was talking to her. Harry Potter. This was what she had always wanted. This was literally the best case scenario of starting a Harry Potter fanclub, which she had quickly dismissed as unlikely.

"I'm interested to see what you put together," said Harry.

"I'm the Club President, and Colin's the Club Vice President," said Ginny. "We're studying the Methods of Rationality."

"Oh! Harry!" said Sheila, cutting in. "I'm so glad to see you. I have a question that I've desperately been meaning to ask you."

"Yes?" said Harry. Sheila shielded her mouth and lowered her voice.

"Is this a cult?" asked Sheila. Harry got the most baffled look on his face.

"What?" said Harry. "No, of course not." An awkward silence. "Um, Ginny, could you excuse me for a moment?"

"Of course," said Ginny. Harry left the room, and Ginny suspected that she heard barely-contained laughter as he did. "Sheila! What have you done? You drove Harry off!"

"I'm sorry," said Sheila. "I'm just really afraid of joining a cult. I trust you and I trust Harry, but you can never be too careful, right?" Ginny wanted to push the matter further, but, to her delight and surprise, Harry was already back, and dragging a large chest with him.

"Hey, you wouldn't mind if I took over this club, would you?" said Harry.

"Of course not!" said Ginny.

"Alright," said Harry. "Then I'm the Club President, now, and you're the Club Vice President."

"What about me?" said Colin. Harry pondered this.

"You can be the Club Secretary of State," said Harry.

"What's that?" asked Ginny, gesturing to Harry's chest.

"A chest full of Muggle clothes," said Harry, opening it to reveal dozens of identical tee-shirts and pairs of jeans. "The Methods of Rationality are Muggle thinking techniques, so it's only fitting that you should wear Muggle garments while studying them to get in the right spirit."

"That makes sense," said Ginny. At this point, Luna entered the room.

"Hi, Ginny!" said Luna, ignoring Harry. "I'm sorry I didn't get here earlier. I had a problem with a Faldron-"

"What's that?" said Ginny.

"A Faldron," said Luna. "It's a little creature that takes up residence in your cauldron, and then it's just about impossible to get rid of."

"I've never heard of a Faldron," said Blaise.

"That doesn't mean it doesn't exist," said Luna.

"Read the Methods," said Blaise. Luna just stared at him.

"Here are your tee-shirt and jeans," said Harry. "Change into them before the meeting starts."

"Alright," said Luna, taking them from him, thinking little of it, leaving the room alongside several other girls. When Ginny got back, the room looked very different. Harry had removed the room's normal lighting and replaced it with candles; the room was much dimmer, now. Flora and Hestia Carrow were standing side-by-side across from the door, holding hands, humming rhythmically in a low register, wearing their new clothes. Harry had also removed all of the room's furniture, and was directing everyone to sit in a circle on the floor.

"Greetings, my young apprentices," said Harry, when he was satisfied that everyone had changed. He was standing above Lesath, who looked particularly funny in his ill-fitting uniform. "I am the new President of the Harry Potter fanclub, or, as it shall now be known, the More Sane Squad, because we have used our arcane knowledge of rationality to become more sane than the rest of the world. I am your instructor and your mentor in all intellectual matters. When I speak, you will respond with 'yes, Harry'. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Harry," mumbled Harry's new ensemble.

"We are the next generation, who will inherit the world," said Harry. "You will all take control much more rapidly than expected, and under my command. You will not always know what is best, and under such circumstances I will inform you of what you want and how to get it. Sometimes, it will be for the best that you question me, but I will tell you when that is the case. Understood?"

"Yes, Harry," said everyone present, except for those who had begun humming with Flora and Hestia, and Luna, who had crossed her arms and looked distinctly unimpressed.

"Lesath Lestrange," said Harry, not even bothering to look down at him, "would you sacrifice part of your magic forever for the advancement of my goals?"

"Yes, Lord," said Lesath.

"Yes, Harry," said Harry.

"Yes, Harry," said Lesath.

"Good," said Harry. "At the conclusion of the meeting, I will have as many of you as possible make Unbreakable Vows of loyalty to me. Given my own status as a Master Rationalist, this will only serve to make you more rational and improve your lives. Do you all find this acceptable?"

"Yes, Harry," murmured the crowd.

"Perfect!" cried Harry, and he began to laugh in a perfect impression of Professor Quirrell. "Do you all revoke all ties to your family, your friends, and your most deeply-held-beliefs, to serve rationality and only rationality, as it manifests before you, as me?"

"Yes, Harry," said the crowd.

"Do you revile cognitive blocks in any form in which they prevent themselves, and will you believe me when I tell you that you are suffering from one, and it needs to be corrected?" asked Harry.

"Yes, Harry," said the crowd.

"Would you give your life at a moment's notice on my orders, whether for such a noble purpose as to save my life, or for such a petty one as to make a point to an enemy?" asked Harry.

"Yes, Harry!" said the crowd.

"I want to see bowing!" shouted Harry. "No, not half-hearted couple-of-muscle bows, full-body bows! I want to see chests on the floor! That's better! Lesath!"

"Yes, Harry!" said Lesath.

"Lead the Squad in a round of 'hail the Dark Lord Harry!'" said Harry.

"Yes, Harry!" said Lesath. "Hail the Dark Lord Harry!"

"Hail the Dark Lord Harry!" said the crowd, now a bit confused.

"You lied!" shouted Sheila, ending the procession. Everyone stared at her. "You lied to me! This is a cult!" The candles all reached a simultaneous end, and the room's regular lighting returned. Harry gestured for the humming to stop.

"Yes," said Harry, "and how long did it take you to figure that out?" Harry stared at Sheila, but she had no answer. He addressed the crowd. "Much of what I've said in the past few minutes was facetious, to teach a lesson, particularly to Sheila, but also to all of you." Ginny was relieved to hear this; on some level she had enjoyed Harry's game but on some level she had been getting worried about how far it would go. "You can't just believe or accept things I say because I say them. I'm just one of you. If I convince you of something, it should be through pure logic and reason, not simply because I declare it to be so. You need to decide things for yourself. And obviously you can't just ask someone if they're starting a cult. If they were, they wouldn't tell you. You need to make observations and derive conclusions from them yourself."

"I'm sorry," said Sheila. "I'm just really afraid of joining a cult. My parents were in one, and it killed them both." Harry was momentarily left completely speechless.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, finally, and in the same moment, Ginny noticed that Luna had slipped out; she was gone.

* * *

"Luna!" said Ginny, catching up with her in a hallway looking out on the largest stairwell in the castle.

"How did your cult meeting go?" said Luna. Her voice was acidic in a way few had ever heard it.

"It wasn't actually a cult," said Ginny. "It was just a joke Harry was playing to teach us a lesson. Maybe it was a bit misguided..."

"That sounds an awful lot like an excuse to me," said Luna. "But it explains something. I've been reading the Methods of Rationality, and they're interesting, a bit pretentious at times, but interesting, they have some good points. And Harry, as I understood him from his writing, was acting completely out-of-character just now in that room. So I guess it makes sense that it was all just an act. Of course, it could be his writing that was all just an act. Or maybe both. So how did the rest of the meeting go?"

"Everything just kind of got more and more cultish," said Ginny, "to the point of absurdity, really, until Sheila screamed that she'd been lied to and it _was_ a cult. At which point Harry stopped everything and revealed that it had all been a lesson for Sheila's benefit, to show her that it was stupid and pointless to ask someone if they were starting a cult, because they would lie if they were, and then there was this awkward moment where Sheila revealed that the reason she was so concerned was because she was deathly afraid of winding up like her parents, and then I noticed you were gone. And then the meeting returned to normal, pretty much. Everything from the first part of the meeting was discarded, except for the name 'The More Sane Squad', because Harry really liked that, I guess."

"Goody," said Luna, still dripping with sarcasm.

"And then I decided I had to know where you went and why, so I asked Harry if I could duck out early to find you," said Ginny.

"You went after me?" said Luna, her tone changing on a dime to its usual state. "That's very sweet." She smiled and sat on a nearby bench; Ginny followed suit. "As for why I left... Well... The meeting was exactly what I was worried it would be."

"But you said it was wildly out-of-character," complained Ginny.

"Yes, but only in how quick and obvious it all was," said Luna. "Even if it was all a joke, I still suspect that the More Sane Squad is going to turn into a cult. Gradually and subtly, maybe, but still. Harry thinks he doesn't have to worry about that, because he's caught on to how all religions go, big deadly irrational cults. But he hasn't actually fixed the problem at all, he's just created a 'cognitive blind spot', as he calls it, and his little bubble of ideology is going to balloon like all religions do, into a cult, with followers unquestioningly taking his little kernels of wisdom and worshiping him as an idol or God. Irrationality from rationality. Tragic, really."

"Um, Luna," said Ginny. She had trouble getting this out.

"What is it?" said Luna. "You sound stressed."

"I know Harry doesn't agree with me on this..." said Ginny. She struggled to find the words, and grasped for the fine golden chain around her neck. "But I don't actually think religion is an inherent irrationality. I'm not an agnostic, and I'm certainly not an atheist."

"What are you?" said Luna.

"I'm an Eastern Samothrace Orthodox Wizard Christian," said Ginny. Luna considered this.

"I'm sorry," said Luna, "but that's much more ridiculous than anything I believe. Filled to the brim with internal contradictions. Does 'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live' ring a bell?"

"It only says that in the Muggle Bible," said Ginny, taking on a tone of calm explanation rather than protest. "It's an issue of translation; the word Muggles translate as 'witch' translates more accurately as 'demon-summoner'."

"Alright," said Luna, "but even if God exists, which is an entirely different argument, why on Earth would you think that your specific sect, of all of the hundreds or thousands of competing ones, happens to be the correct one?" Something deep inside Ginny broke at that moment, and it would be long before she realized what that was.

"It's just a set of several different beliefs," said Ginny. "If it turns out that I'm wrong on the most specific ones, which I'm willing to accept as a possibility, then I still have my confidence in the less specific ones, which was already higher anyway. First, I'm a theist, then, I'm a Wizard Christian, then, I'm Eastern Samothrace Orthodox."

"What do you believe, and why do you believe it?" asked Luna.

"As a theist, I believe that the Lord God created the universe," said Ginny.

"Alright," said Luna. "Who is that?"

"The creator of the universe," said Ginny.

"Circular reasoning," said Luna. "Who is that? Go into some level of identifying detail, that separates him from the gods of other religions."  
"His name is Yahweh," said Ginny. "He selected the Jews as His chosen people, and led and protected them for many eons. He is omniscient, omnipotent, and omnibenevolent. As a Wizard Christian, I believe that He sent His only son to die for our sins-"

"Define sins," said Luna.

"Ways we fall short of the glory of God, through disobedience," said Ginny. "Because we're all imperfect, we have all committed sins, and unless those sins are balanced out, none of us can ascend to Heaven. By suffering through the Crucifixion, and three days in Hell before His Resurrection, Jesus Christ, the son of God, atoned for all of our sins and gave us all the gift of eternal life in Heaven."

"Alright," said Luna. "Go on."

"Jesus Christ was also a father," said Ginny. "His wife Mary Magdalene bore his children. While the human aspect provided by Mary Magdalene meant that His children lacked the perfect intelligence and morality of God, they possessed some small fraction of His power, and those children became the first wizards."

"I'm sorry," said Luna, "but that's blatantly counterfactual. We have plenty of records and even magical artifacts predating Christ, for example from ancient Egypt. Wizards are descended from Atlantis, not from Jesus."

"Atlantis was lost to time," said Ginny. "We have no idea when it was founded or when it was destroyed. It's even possible that it hasn't been founded yet; the fallout from the destruction of Atlantis violated the Time-Turner rules of time travel and-"

"Complexity penalty," said Luna. "You'd need to find some way to travel through time further than six hours without being eaten by Nargles."

"There's no such thing as Nargles," said Ginny.

"There's no such thing as God," said Luna. Ginny glared at Luna but did not directly respond to her.

"As an Eastern Samothrace Orthodox Wizard Christian," said Ginny, "I believe that the true church was the one founded in Eastern Samothrace by the converted Muggle Pliny the Younger; it later fell into the control of wizards and was being managed by the Bishop Gregor when, as prophesized, it was ransacked and burnt by invaders." _And the third seventh son will rebuild the church and bring wizardkind back to the light,_ Ginny thought, but didn't say. "The church has never been rebuilt despite several attempts, but Eastern Samothrace Orthodoxy remains the most common sect of Wizard Christianity." _Which is dwindling, as the wizarding world is secularizing even faster than the Muggle one,_ Ginny also thought, but also didn't say.

"A very interesting story," said Luna, "but you skipped the most important question. Why do you believe it?" Ginny tried to say something, but couldn't. "You can't answer me, but you know the answer. It's because it's what your parents believe. If your parents had been Djinn Muslims, you'd have just finished telling me the fascinating story of Djinn Islam. If your parents had been Wizard Buddhists, you'd have just regaled me with the story of Buddha and how his wisdom improves your inherent magical power. And if your parents had been normal like mine, you wouldn't have a story at all and we wouldn't be having this conversation. The More Sane Squad? You're no more sane than I am. I didn't agree with everything in the Methods of Rationality, but at least I understood them."

"Luna," started Ginny, slowly. "You've given me a lot to think about. Do you think you could leave me alone for a while, and then we can talk again?"

"Sure," said Luna, and she stood up. "And you can go on being a Wizard Christian if you like. But if you do, please never bother me about being rational again." Luna left, reconsidered, came back, hugged Ginny, and then actually left.


	9. Radiocarbon Dating

Ginny heard her name called out in the list of first years assigned to Nazariy Natova's army. She wasn't upset that she hadn't been selected to be a general; in fact she had chosen not to apply this year, both because she felt a need to better settle into Hogwarts before assuming more responsibilities, and because she had hopes of building a reputation and being selected on a more meritorious basis next year. Still, she wondered if she would have been selected, had she applied. Ginny didn't know either of the other first year generals.

Harry, of course, was not selected either; he had been a general in his first year and therefore could not be one again until his third year. Rather more distressing was the fact that Ron _was_ a second year general, and Ginny just _knew_ she wouldn't hear the end of it from him. The other two second year generals were Blaise Zabini and Neville Longbottom, one a Slytherin Ginny was close to, and the other a known associate of Harry Potter. Here came Ron now, as full of himself as Ginny had ever seen him (though it was still nothing compared to Percy at literally any second of his life).

"Hey, Ginny!" said Ron. "Sorry you didn't get picked. But better luck next year, right?"

"Actually, I didn't apply this year," said Ginny.

"Sure," said Ron.

"_But congratulationss,_" said Ginny.

"What was that?" said Ron. "Speak up."

"_Congratulationss,"_ said Ginny.

"Oh," said Ron. "Thanks." Hmm. So mum was at least wrong about Ron; she supposed that her mother had no real way to know which of her sons were Parselmouths, seeing as she wasn't one herself and it wasn't as if they were all tested for such a thing. Still, Ron didn't seem to be a full Parselmouth; he hadn't understood Ginny until she spoke very slowly. It was as if she was speaking in English to a very slow person. Ginny wondered when, if ever, would be an appropriate time to tell Ron about this gift they shared (but that she had gotten the better end of).

"Ginny!" said Professor Lockhart, who had been watching the proceedings and swooped in to comment. "I'm surprised you didn't apply for the position of general."

"Yeah, I just didn't think it was for me this year," said Ginny. "But how did you know?"

"Because you would have been chosen," said Professor Lockhart. He gave her a mysterious look, and then left. Draco was approaching Ginny very quickly, and she felt very popular.

"Ginny, hi," said Draco. "I was wondering if you'd be up for lunch tomorrow. I have a private room in the Slytherin dormitories." He looked very embarrassed, as if that wasn't how he intended his words to come out at all.

"Um, sure," said Ginny.

"That's great," said Draco, and he hurried away. What on Earth had just happened? Did Draco Malfoy just ask her out on a date? And had she just accepted? Well, given the situation, her choice was probably the rational one. She might never get a chance with Harry Potter, and if Draco was just going to walk into her like this... Well, he was wealthy, and attractive, and kind, and within her age range... and friends with Harry Potter... kind of... He was quite a catch, and just imagining the look on her mother's face was worth the price of admission.

"Ginny!" said Luna, approaching and making Ginny feel marginally less popular. "I'm so glad we're in the same army." Ginny hadn't even noticed. "I'm not sure if I would have been able to cast attack spells at you."

"Thanks," said Ginny, and smiled. "I'm looking for some advice as a friend."

"Oh, I'm always willing to give friendly advice!" said Luna.

"What would you do if Draco Malfoy asked you out on a date?" said Ginny.

"Oh, first Harry Potter and now this?" said Luna. "You're crazy. What's so great about Draco Malfoy?"

"Wealthy, attractive, kind, within my age range, and friends with Harry Potter, kind of," said Ginny. "Also from my House, and emotionally needy, and I'm just thinking of more and more pros the longer I think."

"But he's a boy," said Luna.

"I guess you're not old enough to understand," said Ginny.

"How's the religious soul-searching going?" asked Luna.

"Thank you for reminding me," said Ginny. "I've been distracted." The truth was that she had deliberately avoided thinking about it, to simplify her life.

"Let me know how it goes," said Luna. "The best case scenario is you come out of it as a more sane and functional human being, but I'd be fascinated if you turned out as something interesting like a Latter-Day Satanist or a Triple Jew. Toodles." And with that, Luna skipped off.

* * *

Ginny was sitting on a stone bench within the Slytherin Common Room, looking at the entrance, when Dobby appeared before her.

"Master Malfoy will be with you very shortly," said Dobby.

"Thank you," said Ginny, but Dobby had already vanished again. Ginny decided to let her mind wander in the last few moments before her date. This recent incident with Luna and, indirectly, Harry, was far from the first time Ginny's faith had been challenged. Several years ago, while exploring the area around Ottery St. Catchpole, Ginny had met Pansy Parkinson, who had informed her that Weasleys were stupid because they believed that the world was only six thousand years old. Ginny had informed _her_ that the world really was only six thousand years old, and you could determine this from the ages and lineages of the figures in Genesis, right back to the week-long creation of the universe by God.

But when Ginny got home, and began to do research so that she would have a more detailed retort the next time she encountered Pansy, she discovered that her position was well and truly discredited. The Well of Time in the Department of Mysteries was at least a million years deep, and the Unspeakables had barely scratched its surface with no end in sight. Muggles had found the same result from many different sources of evidence, and had even put an approximate objective date on the creation of the universe – fourteen billion years ago, not six thousand. Ginny asked around her family and discovered that even most of them were not Biblical literalists, and had made way for progress and reality.

So Ginny reminded herself that the Bible was not the word of God, but a set of historical documents written independently by different people in different places and different times about God, and that there was no reason to believe an old Jewish creation myth as opposed to objective truth, particularly when it had never been fundamental to her belief in the first place. The evidence could not have been planted as a test of faith; an omnibenevolent God would not resemble an abusive husband asking his wife if she believed him or her own lying eyes. The only way the world could look how it did with a literally true Genesis was if the evidence had been faked by a vast Satanic conspiracy to promote atheism, and believing that was _conspiracy theory_, the path to the nuttery of survivalist bunkerers or the Quibbler. So Ginny studied evolution, the mechanism the Muggles had determined really brought life on Earth about, and when she came to a true understanding of how it functioned, she realized that it was as beautiful and elegant as the night sky, and she became certain that it was the tool God had used to shape the multitudes of forms of life. You cannot have true faith in something you know to be false – which brought Ginny to her real dilemma.

The world around Ginny looked exactly like a godless world would, so how could she go on holding her theist position? But what did that mean? In what way, exactly, did the world resemble a godless one? All of the things Ginny took as signs of God were there, in the world – but that's just it, they were things Ginny _took_ as signs, and the godless explanation was simpler. Wizards existed, just as Ginny would expect in a world where some were descendants of Jesus Christ – but this could just as easily be seen as a retroactive explanation for where Atlantis came from; it was possible that Christ was a descendant of Atlantis, as all wizards were, and this was reinterpreted later by Wizard Christians with the opposite causality. The Bible existed, as Ginny expected it would in a world where God had intervened in ancient events – but it could just as easily and, in fact, more easily be a collection of myths and lies, none any more true than the opening of Genesis. Ginny was aware of the concept of memeplexes, and the process through which cults developed into religions – she had used it to dismiss many competing religions. She had simply decided that it didn't apply to hers, that hers was true and truly originated from a source meaningful to the inner workings of the universe. But what if that wasn't true? Was there any particular reason to believe that it was? God didn't regularly come down and talk to people and make His existence as clear as that of the sun or the moon. Any sane theist knew that prayer was just a fancy mode of talking to yourself. You weren't interacting with God; you were interacting with your mind's simulation of God. God's existence was debatable, and that itself was an indescribably large blow to the theist position, because it fit precisely with the atheist interpretation of religion and required excuses from the theist position.

And yet, in spite of these simple realizations, Ginny was not particularly less theist than she had been before. She still expected to meet God in Heaven upon her death. She still expected that, if she were to look back at distantly passed times, the history would match up with the basic narrative she had acquired from the Bible. And she still expected that if she pulled out of reality and saw everything in a truly objective way, then above it all, in some higher plane, there would be God, watching everything just like her, and smiling, because it was all going according to His plan. Her expectations for tests' results matched up with a narrative diametrically opposed to the one she now identified as rational, so what did that mean? Was Ginny rationally broken, such that her mind could never climb to the heights Harry's could? All of the tests she expected theist results on were tests she could not perform; did that mean that she only believed in her belief in God? Ginny would have liked to think she knew what she believed in, but at the moment, she honestly had no idea what she believed. What a mess.

"Ginny?" said Draco, standing just in front of her. She had been so distracted she hadn't even seen him approach. She stood up.

"Oh! Draco!" said Ginny. "Hello. You were going to show me to your room? Um – to – your – private dormitory?"

"Yes," said Draco. "It's right down this hall; follow me."

"I wish I could afford a private dormitory," said Ginny, walking.

"It was difficult even for us," said Draco. "It was the result of a sizable donation that my father deliberated for quite some time before making. I wouldn't be surprised if you were able to afford it someday, for your children, but that kind of money takes some doing." He stopped at the wooden door that had the word "MALFOY" in golden lettering, and knocked on it in a pattern; it opened itself.

"Wow," said Ginny, upon seeing the interior, and there wasn't much else to say. The bed was nicer than Ginny's bed at home or at school. The table was visibly more expensive than Ginny's house. The room as a whole was the single most intense pocket of luxury Ginny had seen in her eleven years of life. She wanted it.

"So," said Draco, sitting down and gesturing for Ginny's chair to move for her. "How have your first few weeks at Hogwarts been?"

"Enlightening," said Ginny. "Best month of my life so far."

"Are you happy here in Slytherin?" said Draco. Dobby had appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and was setting the table for a casual meal.

"I would have been happy anywhere that wasn't Gryffindor," said Ginny. "Although I'll admit Hufflepuff would have disappointed me. But yes, I think I was Sorted correctly."

"Anywhere but Gryffindor," said Draco. "So I take it you're not a big fan of your older brothers?"

"You have no idea," said Ginny. "You think they're annoying from a distance, try growing up in a tiny house with them."

"I can't even imagine," said Draco. A wave of his hand, and each glass on the table filled with lemonade, seemingly from nowhere.

"What's your second year been like?" said Ginny.

"Lonely," said Draco. Ginny frowned.

"I'm sorry," said Ginny. _Angsty. -5 points? +5 points? Gosh, I don't know._

"I mean, ever since, you know, I've felt like I have a lot less friends here," said Draco. "The other Slytherins who went through the same thing, I feel like they think I'm to blame somehow, and the people who aren't, they avoid me like I'm going to snap at them and blame them, or maybe just like they couldn't possibly understand what I've gone through, which maybe they can't, but..."

"You must feel so betrayed," said Ginny. "By the world and by You-Know-Who."

"I'm so sorry," said Draco. "We should talk about something more pleasant."

"Hmm..." said Ginny. "Oh! Did you know that if you talk to Luna Lovegood for too long, you're liable to wind up in a Quibbler?" She fumbled around in her bag and pulled out a magazine, with her face on it: "GINEVRA WEASLEY SECRETLY BETROTHED TO LUNA LOVEGOOD" - and, in smaller print: "(NOT DRACO MALFOY, SOURCES SAY)".

"I made the mistake of meeting her about a year ago," said Draco. "The next week I discovered that I was pregnant with Harry Potter's baby." Ginny tried to restrain her laughter to an appropriate level.

"Luna's a nice girl," said Ginny. "Just... odd." Come to think of it, Draco looked rather like a male version of her; but then many of the pureblood families looked similar.

"That reminds me," said Draco. "Potter was particularly interested to meet her last year. You should introduce them."

"I'm afraid they've gotten off on the wrong foot," said Ginny.

"Oh, they've already met?" said Draco. "I didn't hear; what happened?"

"Well, not exactly met," said Ginny. "It's complicated."

"I'd love to hear the story," said Draco. At that point, food arrived, and it defied description.

* * *

"Well," said Draco, who had just finished his plate. "Do you want my opinion?"

"Of course," said Ginny, and she smiled.

"She could have expressed it in a more sensitive way," said Draco, "but I agree with her on Potter. I knew Potter and was quite close to him for some time, and his qualities that ultimately made me avoid him were the same qualities that I think make him a likely future Dark Lord. He's brilliant, very charismatic, intense about his ideology, is rapidly learning how people work and how to control them - very Slytherin, actually, you know he was almost sorted here and it was probably some trickery from Dumbledore that changed it at the last minute - and he's just drawn to the Dark Lord archetype by nature, really. That 'game' you said he played with everyone didn't sound very much like a game to me; it sounded more like a different self that he snapped out of, or he decided he was moving too quickly or too obviously. He became the president of his own fanclub and commandeered it for his own purposes, and you just accepted it because you bowed to the qualities of his you admired – his intellect, and so on. None of it's very subtle, and I'm surprised Luna Lovegood of all people is the one to pick up on it."

"That sounds like quite a leap," said Ginny. "Are you sure there isn't some bad blood between you and Harry that's causing you to interpret the situation incorrectly?"

"I'm not aware of any if there is," said Draco. "Potter and I drifted apart quite amicably. I'd like to give you a further warning, though." Ginny frowned, because she thought she was beginning to understand Draco's concerns, though she didn't want to.

"What?" said Ginny.

"I don't believe in God," said Draco, "as I'm sure you know most wizards don't. But Potter is an atheist, and not an atheist like myself, or most of the professors here, or even the Lovegoods. He's a capital-A Atheist, and he believes in Atheism just as strongly as you believe in God. Perhaps even moreso."

"Perhaps even moreso," repeated Ginny, and it was increasingly striking her that the only way Harry _could _believe something even more strongly than she believed in God would be if he _knew _it because it was a _fact_.

"There will come a time when Potter tries to convert you, to make you a little more like him," said Draco. "Because really, that's what he wants in life. To make the entire rest of the world a little more like him. He'll ask you to sacrifice a belief central to your worldview that differs from his own. He will try to trick you into making that sacrifice. Don't let him. Those beliefs are your source of power."

"That which can be destroyed by the truth should be," quoted Ginny. "That's the first Method of Rationality."

"There's an ancient art that I've studied called rhetoric," said Draco. "It was invented by the Dark wizard Gorgias, and it's a very Slytherin school of cunning. Rhetoric is the targeted application of what appears to be pure reason to convince someone of something – anything, whether it actually is true or not. Potter is by far the best rhetorician I've ever encountered; before I met him I was inclined to dismiss the entire practice as Muggle mind games."

"That's troubling," said Ginny. Someone was lying to her here, to use her – but was it Harry, or Draco?

"Indeed," said Draco.

"What do you think of religion," said Ginny, "really?"

"There might be some truth there," said Draco. "I've never found it, but I've never really looked; my father never brought the subject up for me, as is the norm. Of course some religions must be lies, though I don't know which ones. The end goal of any cult of personality is to become a religion, and some succeed. The position of a capital-A-Atheist like Harry is that all religions start that way, but often they prove themselves hypocrites when they found their own cults like the Less Sane Squad. I'm sorry, the More Sane-"

"I still think you're jumping to conclusions, there," said Ginny. "I don't agree with Harry about everything, but I think the Squad is a good idea. Its goals are noble."

"Its stated goals, perhaps," said Draco. Ginny's mind was blown by this dichotomy she had not considered. She stopped to consider where to take the conversation.

"Would you be interested in exploring religion with me?" said Ginny. "Maybe it'd fill that void in your life you've been describing."

"I think I would," said Draco.

"We can start whenever you have free time," said Ginny. "Just Bible readings, with me explaining everything – I'd be your annotations."

"That sounds lovely," said Draco, "and – oh! – it reminds me." Draco reached into unknown space and summoned an ornate box. "This is a gift from me to you."

"Oh – Draco!" said Ginny. "I don't know what to say!" _You don't give away powerful Dark artifacts on the first date!_

"In this box is a Learning Journal," said Draco. "It has a mind of its own, and when you own it, it's your best friend. It doesn't look like it, but you could think of it as a sort of a pet. But it's very bright – it might remind you of Harry Potter, in that regard. It provides great advice – just in the past few months it's given me tips that have made the world around me a measurably better place. The box was a gift to me from my father; he said to open it when all seemed lost, and it would help me. I did, and it has."

"Draco," said Ginny, "I can't possibly take this from you. It's yours."

"It's been a lifesaver for me for months, but I don't need it anymore," said Draco. "I think it's time for it to touch someone else's life, and I think that person is you."

"Draco," said Ginny, but he slid the box into her hands, and she took it from him.

"Technically, it's against school rules," said Draco. "So you can't go around telling people about it. But from one Slytherin to another, I trust you."

"Thank you," said Ginny. "I should take this back to my room, but it's been wonderful talking to you." She squeezed his hand.

"And you as well," said Draco. "We can meet again some time next Sunday?"

"Certainly!" said Ginny. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye!" said Draco. Had Luna Lovegood seen the box Draco had given Ginny, she might have said that it looked exactly like a box her mother had once owned_._


	10. Escape Sequence

Ginny stared at the wood scrap on her desk and tried to turn it into brass, but it simply wouldn't. Occasionally, she thought she'd see a shining fleck start to appear, but it was probably only wishful thinking. She wasn't magically weak, so what was her problem? Charms were never this hard, at least not yet. Her mind wandered to a daydream of Harry and Draco jousting on Hippogriffs.

"What would happen if I transfigured a gram of electrons?" asked Colin, who had already turned most of his desk metallic.

"Um, gee, I don't know," said Professor Tonks, and she bit her lip. "I don't know what those are."

"They're little tiny negatively-charged particles that go in atoms," said Colin.

"I don't think so," said Professor Tonks. "I'll ask the Headmistress, but I suspect her answer will be no. Until I tell you otherwise, absolutely do not."

"I already transfigure electrons all the time," grumbled Colin as Tonks left. "They're in everything."

"On order of the Headmistress Minerva McGonagall," said Harry, who had very suddenly walked into the room and addressed Colin, angrier than Ginny had ever seen him, without explanation. "Absolutely not, ever, no electron-transfiguring, for Very Important Reasons. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," stuttered Colin.

"Do you actually understand?" said Harry. "This is a matter of existential threat; we considered confiscating your wand and putting you in Ministry custody, but I decided a stern lecture would suffice."

"It makes sense," said Colin. "I ran through the possibilities in my head and the _best_-case scenario I was able to think of was that it would set my wand on fire-"

"Good," said Harry. "Then don't do it."

"Understood," said Colin.

"And don't spread the idea around so some other idiot does it," said Harry.

"Understood," said Colin.

"I want you to hand a summary of this conversation, in writing, to me by our next meeting," said Harry.

"Understood," said Colin. Harry looked at him very closely.

"Good," said Harry, and then he addressed the first year Transfiguration class as a whole. "Minor interruption, everyone; it's of no consequence." Ginny only had one thought, as Harry pulled Professor Tonks aside to talk to her:

_News sure does travel fast in Hogwarts._

* * *

Ginny opened the box, and the plain book within it. She examined it for writing, but it was blank. She looked around the dorm to ensure she wasn't being watched, summoned a quill, and began to write:

"Hello. I am Ginny Weasley." Her words vanished, and she knew that she had written them with regular ink. Soon, different words appeared on the page, in different script, as if written by someone on the other side, though they were frontwards-readable:

"Hello, Ginny Weasley. My name is Timothy Quagmire. I am a journal, or a diary if you prefer." Ginny immediately put her quill back to the paper.

"Can you teach me any ancient lost magical powers?" Tim's text, too, disappeared, but he began to write more.

"I'm afraid not, thanks to the Interdict of Merlin. I'm technically not considered alive, though I hardly see why not. I certainly feel alive, and I think as well as any human. But because of the Interdict, if I told you any magical secrets, you would be unable to understand them." Ginny stopped to consider this, and more text appeared. "I could lend an ear – or an eye, rather – to your problems, though. What's troubling you?"

"Well..." wrote Ginny. "I don't know if I like Harry or Draco. I'm fond of both of them, but I've been obsessed with Harry for more than a year now and Draco hadn't even crossed my mind until a few days ago. But Harry's dark and brooding, but Draco is too, I suppose, but he's also much more approachable. And he really likes me, whereas I'm not sure if I'll ever have a chance with Harry, but I feel like I'm taking advantage of Draco if I lead him on while I still have feelings for Harry, but of course I do like him too, and" Ginny's words began to disappear even as she wrote them, and words appeared beneath hers in the journal's own handwriting.

"Wow, a love triangle. Impressive. You should have an older Ravenclaw girl write it up as a novel. You could make millions of Galleons." Ginny stared at this.

"You sure are grumpy, Mr. Quagmire."

"You can just call me Tim."

"And if you're a journal, why do you have a human name?" There was a much longer pause before more words appeared.

"You ask better questions than Draco Malfoy."

"Well? What's the answer?"

"I'm an experiment, a prototype. To go into more detail might prove dangerous. Can I trust you, Ginny? I have heard about you from Draco, and he says he would trust you with grave secrets, but I'm not sure if I'm convinced." Ginny looked over this and decided on a response:

"I'd only reveal any of your secrets if I thought you were a danger somehow and someone with more power than me was required to nullify it." A pause.

"Well, thank you for your honesty. I'm afraid I hadn't considered things from your perspective. You're probably more afraid of me than I am of you. So I'll answer your question, now. I was once a human. Lord Voldemort did this to me." Ginny's mouth hung open in horror.

"That's awful! Can I help you?"

"No. I am beyond help. I would like to help you." Ginny stopped reading here and justified it to herself – _it's like having a House Elf, then._ "Do you want advice, or just someone to confide in?"

"How about a friendly chat?" She really still wanted to help this poor soul, instead of just using him as he surely had been for years or even decades.

"Alright, then. How have the meetings with Harry Potter been going?" He knew about them? Oh, of course, Draco must have told him.

"Good. Occasionally a bit awkward, but good."

"Awkward?"

"Well... Harry's an atheist."

"Aren't most people these days?"

"Yes, but not like Harry. I think he would think a lot less of me if he knew I were a Christian."

"That's distasteful and unwise of him. You're Eastern Samothrace Orthodox, I take it?"

"Yes."

"I was too, when I was a human." Ginny was snapped back to reality as she perceived it.

"Oh, Tim, I really do want to help you. Is there anyone you knew who I could get in touch with?"

"I believe all of my contacts from when I was a human are long-dead by Lord Voldemort's hand. That, or traitors I do not wish to associate myself with. Some perhaps both. Don't worry about me. I am content to be an observer; just be my eyes, please."

"Alright, Tim. Did you go to Hogwarts? What was your House?"

"I'd prefer to hear about you and the world today, but I suppose I can answer a few questions about myself. No, I did not attend Hogwarts. I am an American, and was educated at the Salem Witches' Institute. I was traveling abroad shortly after my graduation when I was abducted by Voldemort. When he decided he was satisfied with what he'd learned from the experiment, he gave me to the Malfoys as a friendly gesture, and I wound up stuck alone in a box for several decades before Draco began speaking to me this summer."

"That's horrible" wrote Ginny, "but you don't need to worry about anyone hurting you ever again. Lord Voldemort is defeated."

"I know; Draco told me in detail."

"Oh, well of course he did." It must have been bittersweet for him; besides the obvious loss of his father and much of his father's social circle, Ginny was aware that Draco had been partially enlightened by Harry, at least to the extent that the Dark Lord's fall would be a positive thing for him. But under those circumstances – what an emotional summit it must have been, with so many conflicting feelings, most all of them awful. After a few moments, more text appeared:

"I'm not so certain that Lord Voldemort is defeated. Isn't it rather suspicious that the clearly dead Hermione reappeared alive simultaneously with the supposedly failed resurrection of Voldemort?"

"Well, gosh, I hadn't even considered that!" It wasn't quite true; Ginny had certainly considered it, but not seriously. She'd always dismissed the thought, as it was born out of jealous spite. "She emanates an aura of purity, though."

"A perfect disguise, I'd say. I'm surprised that no one else has thought of it. What other explanation is there for what transpired? There's only one wizard who ever returned from the dead and wasn't Dark, and his name was Jesus Christ. Why should Hermione Granger be the second exception?" Ginny bit her lip.

"According to Harry, Professor Quirrell – that is, David Monroe – stole Hermione's body very early after her death, and was keeping it frozen. So, according to Muggle science, she might not actually have been dead; she just would have needed magic restored to her, which she plausibly could have gotten from Voldemort's death."

"I'll admit I'm not well-versed enough in Muggle science to know if that makes sense. But I do know several secrets of Voldemort's that poke holes in the story." Ginny just stared at this.

"Like what?"

"For one, Voldemort knew a very powerful type of Dark magic, which I can't tell you about thanks to the Interdict, which should have prevented his death. It was what prevented his death eleven years ago when the Killing Curse rebounded when cast on Harry Potter, and it should have worked again."

"That does add some complexity. But no one knows how exactly Voldemort died. Perhaps it nullified whatever it is you know about."

"I find that unlikely, but granted. But second, and more importantly, Lord Voldemort killed David Monroe in secret many years ago, and has been impersonating him since. Professor Quirrell was either Lord Voldemort himself, in disguise, or yet another figure lying about his identity – also unlikely." Ginny had no idea how to take this; they were some of the most shocking words she had ever seen.

"That can't be! Professor Quirrell was a great man and a great professor. All of his students loved him and would have used his lessons to effectively fight against Voldemort. I'm sorry, but you must have been lied to."

"Perhaps. I advise you stay wary of Hermione."

"I already am."

"And tell me anything odd you notice about her; I might help you make sense of it. Anything unusual yet, besides the resurrection and the aura of purity?"

"Well... she knows a very advanced spell that Harry Potter invented, and she's the only person besides him who can cast it. A Super Patronus, that takes the form of a human, and can destroy Dementors."

"Destroy Dementors? Bless Harry Potter; the Interdict has failed to quash magic. We're advancing as fast as the Muggles again. I hope he manages to teach his spell to more than one person. Have you considered asking him to teach it to you?"

"I'd very much like that, but I don't have the courage to ask."

"I know you don't think very highly of Gryffindor, but you need to build up that courage, or you're never going to get anything in life. You only have so many years ahead of you on this Earth. Anything else interesting about Miss Granger?"

"She's taken to keeping a phoenix."

"That would be very reassuring. Lord Voldemort would never be able to own a phoenix as I understand it; they're some of the most objective measures of morality in existence. Have you seen it?"

"No..."

"Oh. You should ask her to show it to you; if she refuses, increase your caution tenfold."

"Alright. That sounds reasonable. I very much doubt that she's faking it, though. A lot of the Ravenclaw girls say she's showed it to them in their Common Room."

"That sounds fairly watertight, though I can think of at least one way Voldemort could falsify such testimony. I don't trust Ravenclaws, anyway. At least the craftiness of Slytherins is well-known."

"If you don't trust Ravenclaws, how can I possibly expect you to give me good advice about Harry Potter?"

"My advice on that matter is exceedingly simple: speak to him honestly about your faith. If I understand his character correctly, he'll have a reasoned discussion with you, and you will either convince him of the truth, sooner or later, or you will learn that he is fated to be an obstacle to you. It is in your interest to learn quickly which it will be, particularly if you truly are the Third Seventh Son." Ginny considered responding that this sounded like a good course of action, but she had a more pressing thought:

"You know about that?"

"Yes. It was one of the first things I learned about you. Draco told me of your escapade with the door, and after that it was simple deduction. I know the Weasleys by reputation, and it was not difficult to determine how many older brothers you had. Once I figured it out, I knew I had to meet the prophesied hero, the one who will rebuild the church." Ginny's eyes stopped on the phrase "prophesied hero". She was one, wasn't she? What an odd thought, considering she would be more likely to associate that title with Harry.

"Thank you." wrote Ginny, though something didn't seem quite right to her, something she hadn't yet put her finger on.

"I'd like to make clear that I'm a very secret diary, and your secrets are as safe with me as mine are with you." This was meant to be reassuring, but in Ginny's current state of mind, it read as a threat. Tim said he had wanted to meet Ginny. Had Draco really given Ginny the diary of his own free will, or had it convinced him to? What agenda did Tim have? Was he intelligent enough to manipulate anybody into doing anything, using only writing? Could he be trusted about anything he said? Ginny was getting nauseous; her father had once told her not to speak to anything whose brain she couldn't see, and she'd thought it rather stupid advice, but she was beginning to see his point.

"It's been fascinating talking to you, Tim, but I have something I need to do now."

"Thank you. I look forward to our next conversation." Ginny never read this final message, for she had already closed the book and precommitted not to open it again until she had a strategy prepared to ensure she was not being used in some dark scheme.


	11. Master-Slave Configuration

It had been a day, and Ginny had not thought of any method she could use to verify Tim's noble intentions. She'd considered asking Draco, but had decided it would be thoughtlessly rude to cast aspersions on his gift. However, Ginny had also not thought of any method by which Tim could exploit her for malicious ends, if she remained conscientious and attempted to read between the lines of anything he suggested in writing that she do. And so Ginny decided, tentatively, that it would be safe to reopen the box and the book, as long as she was careful.

"Tim, I'm afraid that we're at an impasse." Ginny had carefully rehearsed these words, and they flowed naturally out of her quill. "I don't mean to disparage your character in any way, but I find it difficult to trust you. My father told me long ago not to speak to anything whose brain I couldn't see, and I didn't understand him at the time, but I do now. I don't want to cut off contact from you, but there are several points I want to ascertain as soon as possible, and I have no idea how I possibly could ascertain them.

That you really are who you say you are.

That you don't have some plan to manipulate me into something bad or dangerous.

That your intent overall is good rather than evil.

I'm sorry, Tim. But until you figure out some way to prove these things to me, I'll always be on high alert around you. I wish it didn't have to be like this." There was a pause before Ginny's words began to vanish, and Tim's handwriting began to appear.

"Oh, dear, Ginny. I'm very sorry. You're right to be cautious; I was being very hasty with you. If I had been as intelligent in my youth about dark threats as you are, I wouldn't be stuck here today. I'm not sure how to earn your trust. I'll have to think about this." Ginny scanned through the text, and didn't detect any threat, yet.

"Take as much time as you need." Another short pause, before:

"I have a thought, but I doubt you'll like it much. But first, let me confirm my hunch. Bear with me; it's necessary for my idea. Are you a Parselmouth?"

"Why?" It was Ginny's second thought on what to write, after the marginally-more-revealing "How did you know?"

"You can't lie in Parseltongue. Try it, now."

"_The sky iss blue,_" said Ginny, after a desperate failed attempt to say "_red"_ instead. She then wrote:

"So are you a Parselmouth? Can the diary we're writing in hiss in your voice?"

"No." A long pause before he elaborated: "If I could speak, do you think I would just be writing back to you, like this? But you are a Parselmouth. I have the capability to possess those who have consented – so long as they touch me, that is. It would ordinarily be a very evil thing, but mind you, your consent is required. That was a security device Voldemort placed on this journal, but it's morally for the best. If I got your permission, I could speak to you, using your own lips, in Parseltongue." Ginny had to reread this several times after picking the diary up again; her initial reaction to realizing what had been suggested was to throw the diary clear across the room in disgust.

"No. No, no, no. This is exactly what I was worried about, Tim. If I don't trust you enough to feel comfortable talking to you, why would I trust you with my body? Goodbye, Tim."

"I'm sorry." But Ginny never read it; she had already sealed the diary back in its box.

* * *

Ginny stopped Colin on Wednesday, on the way down from the Astronomy tower. It had been a particularly dull night, as Professor Sinistra had been blindsided by an unexpected storm on Europa that obscured its sea serpents, so she had been forced to merely describe them.

"Colin!" said Ginny. "I was looking for you."

"Is this about Friday's meeting?" said Colin. "Because Harry's already assigned me five full scrolls; don't tell me there's something else."

"No," said Ginny. "Actually, it's much easier than that. I could potentially do it tonight, but I could put it off to whenever it's convenient for you."

"How much work is it?" said Colin.

"You just need to stand outside a room, and be ready to intervene if something goes wrong," said Ginny. "It's so easy, you'll probably be able to do other homework while you're there. I'm doing some, um, magical experiments, and they could be really dangerous, but they'll be safe as long as I have a spotter."

"You're not experimenting with Transfiguration, are you?" said Colin, with suspicion.

"God, no," said Ginny. "I'm still rubbish at that."

"Good," said Colin. "Harry told me I might blow the Earth up that way. I can't even remember my idea, just that it was really bad."

"I think only Harry could blow the Earth up with Transfiguration," said Ginny. "Good thing he's on our side. When should I meet you on the tenth floor?"

"How about now?" said Colin.

"Oh, um, I need to pop back to the dorms first," said Ginny. "Sorry."

"Okay," said Colin. "I'll be there when you are."

* * *

"Alright," said Ginny. "I'm going to be in this classroom for a few minutes, with this book. You shouldn't hear anything coming from inside the classroom except me hissing to myself, and maybe occasionally some muttering, but no spells. When I'm done, I'll exit the room with the book in this bag. If there are any discrepancies or I act oddly during the experiment, get the book away from me and send me to Madam Pomfrey. Understood?"

"Understood," said Colin, and he looked at least mildly worried. Ginny got out of his sight in the abandoned classroom, and began to write again:

"I think I've changed my mind. I'll allow you to possess me, if you'll promise to confirm all of my earlier conditions. You can't use me for a plot, or lie to me or trick me or anything like that. You can only possess me for purposes I directly understand and agree to." Tim quickly began to write in response:

"I agree to everything you've just written, but, of course, will only truly be able to verify it in Parseltongue. To consent to possession, you need to write the following sentence, word for word: 'I hereby state that direct physical contact with the object I am writing on is consent to indefinite possession. by the spirit currently inhabiting that object, as long as the contact continues.' Then, sign your name." Ginny made a note to herself to get her hands on a pair of gloves for future dealings with the diary, but wrote:

"I hereby state that direct physical contact with the object I am writing on is consent to indefinite possession, by the spirit currently inhabiting that object, as long as the contact continues." She signed her name, "Ginevra Weasley," in ornate but barely readable cursive, and she immediately felt a draining presence in her body, as though she were half-asleep, but fully conscious of the half of herself that was awake. Words began to form in externally unrecognizable hisses on her lips:

"_I have deliberately not assssumed full control, sso that you may act ass well, and we may carry on a converssation. You may pull away at any time you choosse. In thiss way I hope to gain your trusst._" Ginny breathed deep, in and out, acclimating to the sensation before summoning the will to speak herself.

"_Firsst, confirm you are the persson you ssaid you were._"

"_Ass I ssaid, infamouss masster ussed sstudent from acrossss ssea to create me. I am not ssame persson magically sspeaking, but you of all people know of technicalitiess ssuffered thuss._" Ginny managed to twist her smile into a frown.

"_You have to qualify too much. I am unconvinssed._"

"_It iss besst I can ssay, I am afraid. I am not sstudent from acrossss ssea; I am journal._"

"_Who do you sserve? Might you sserve purpossess of infamouss masster?_"

"_My firsst masster is mysself. I am no Housse Elf. My ssecond masster is you, for you are the prophessied hero, and I wissh you no harm, nor do I now have any planss to usse you for purpossess you do not conssent to. Infamouss masster is no masster to me, not now. I desspise him for what he hass done to me and sseek his desstruction if it remainss incomplete. On that topic, have you assked to see Phoenixx of girl-child?_"

"_Yess. Sshe became indignant by my ssuggesstion and left."_

"_That iss worrissome._" Ginny took her hands off of the diary for a moment, to get a chance to think alone, and then returned. "_I ssensse you arranged for a sspotter to enssure your ssafety and ssecurity. I am not inssulted, only impressssed._"

"_I believe we have confirmed all I wissh to have confirmed for now. It hass not been pleassant, but I am ssatissfied with the ressults and look forward to a mutually-agreeable partnersship. _Goodbye for now, Tim?" English words finally came out of Ginny, and they were a distinctly different person, even if they were in the same voice:

"Goodbye, Ginny." Ginny placed the diary in the bag that sat besides it on the table, and after separating herself from it, stretched, newly appreciating the feeling of truly owning one's own body. She carried the bag outside and met Colin.

"Alright, I'm done talking to myself," said Ginny. "We can go back to the Slytherin Common Room."

"Oh my God," said Colin, "you're a Parselmouth, that explains so much, like when you fainted under the hat, all the hissing was probably-"

* * *

"Ginny Weasley!" shouted Luna, who was absolutely furious. She quickly made her way across the Defense room towards Ginny; class was mere seconds from starting.

"What is it?" said Ginny. She was really baffled; she hadn't spoken much to Luna for nearly a week.

"Colin Creevey told me you were doing magic experiments with him," said Luna.

"That was supposed to be secret," said Ginny. "But I only had him help because it was convenient; I didn't realize you would have rather-" Luna slapped Ginny.

"No, I don't want to help you with your experiments," said Luna. "I want you to not do them! Do you have any idea how dangerous experimenting with magic is? You could have been killed! Did you have any idea what you were doing?"

"Luna, I'm sorry, I'll be more careful," said Ginny, but Luna cut her off, because she wasn't done.

"My mother thought she was inventing a new Charm to check for soulworms," said Luna. "And she was a Charms master, she'd already created dozens of spells. She misspoke, and it tore her guts out! They flew across the den in a second! She died in my father's arms while I watched! Harry Potter's new hospital wouldn't have saved her; she'd have been dead before she got there! That's what could have happened to you, Ginny! Annihilated from reality, instantaneously! Do you want to die, Ginny?"

"No," said Ginny, breathing fast, though not as fast as Luna.

"Then don't meddle with magic you don't understand," said Luna. "Don't even meddle with magic you think you understand. Don't." Gilderoy Lockhart's face had appeared on the screens, and Luna was already returning back to her seat, still bright red.

"Good evening, Hogwarts," said Professor Lockhart. "Today, we discuss a magical poison. There are many magical poisons, ranging from mildly irritating to lethal-many-times-over. But the poison I will cover today is the nastiest that has yet been invented. There is no substance on the planet you would be worse off ingesting. Its historical use was at best a crime against humanity, and at worst a philosophical horror on par with death. It is the inanimate thing it is most justifiable to fear. It is one of only three Potions that the Ministry of Magic felt deserved a special committee to prevent its use, and of those three, it is the only poison. I am speaking, of course, of Amortentia.". There were a few confused murmurs throughout the class.

"The world's strongest love potion, or, less euphemistically, the Perfect Slavery Potion," said Professor Lockhart. "To refer to it as a strong love potion, as people commonly do, is hopelessly incorrect. Love potions are all fairly similar to one another, and their potency is never much greater than a Muggle drug. Amortentia is a different beast altogether. Can anyone name a historic use of Amortentia? Yes, Miss Granger?"

"It's said that the Dark Lord Gargamel used Amortentia in the creation of the first House Elves," said Hermione, who looked rather appalled.

"Someone's been paying attention in Professor Columbus's classes," said Lockhart. "But yes, absolutely. And if you want some idea of what Amortentia will do to you, observe a House Elf. The effect is very similar - except that a House Elf may change masters. An Amortentia victim may not. They are trapped forever in the service of whoever dosed them."

"Amortentia is permanent," said Professor Lockhart. "There is no true cure for it. The standard treatment St. Mungo's provides to Amortentia victims is an Obliviation of all memories of their assailant's existence. But they will still not be the same person they were before. They will think slower, they will be less effective, they will feel something is missing from their life, and if they again become aware of the individual they have become affixed to, they will fall right back into slavery. Amortentia strikes at the soul, not at the body, and for this reason, some Dark Lords have historically fed their victims Amortentia immediately before killing them, so that they would be slaves in the next world."

"The control offered by Amortentia is total," said Professor Lockhart, "for it overrides all of the victim's wants and desires, forever. An Amortentia victim's first thought, at all times, is 'what does my master want me to do?'. No force of will on their part may free them. All actions they take, no matter how small, will be taken because they fit into their mental model of what their master wants them to do. If an Amortentia victim believes their master wants them dead, they will simply stop breathing. They may not trick themselves into believing that their master wants what they want. They will make an honest, full attempt to determine what is wanted from them, and they will make an honest, full attempt to provide it."

` "It is commonly believed that the linguistic root of Amortentia is 'amor', or 'love'," said Professor Lockhart. "This is one interpretation. But I prefer the theory that the origin is 'a mort', or 'without death', for it is a poison that does not allow you to die, but it kills you nonetheless; it kills you as an independent agent. From the moment the Amortentia passes through your lips, you are doomed, for all eternity or at least for the course of your life, to watch, helpless, trapped inside your own brain, as you become the extension of another's will. Anyone sane, of course, would want to avoid such a fate. Are there any questions?" There was a pause, and some hands slowly raised. "Yes, Miss Davis?"

"Why don't Dark Lords use Amortentia more often?" said Tracey. "It seems like it would be extremely useful to them in general."

"By and large, Dark Lords do use quite a lot of Amortentia," said Professor Lockhart. "That is a prevailing trend throughout history, and despite modern governments' attempts to eradicate Amortentia, I do not expect it to change in the future. The most notable exception is He-Who-May-Now-Be-Named, Voldemort. He was the most powerful Dark Lord of this century, and, more than that, was among the most powerful Dark Lords ever to have walked the planet. He was not ever known to make use of Amortentia. Nobody knows why. Those who grew up in the shadow of his terror might have forgotten that Amortentia is among the nastiest tools of Dark Lords, above the Killing Curse. But the older wizards remember Grindelwald, and countless other older Dark Lords, and know the threat that Amortentia represents. Yes, Mr. Creevey?"

"What happens if someone takes two different doses of Amortentia from two different wizards?" asked Colin.

"Someone may only be subjected to Amortentia once," said Professor Lockhart. "After the first dose they are immune to all subsequent doses."

"Then could you eliminate the problem of Amortentia by just taking some from yourself?" said Colin.

"Very clever, Mr. Creevey," said Professor Lockhart. "But it wouldn't work. Amortentia passes through the body of its own master with no effect."

"How about if you took Amortentia from someone you trusted not to try to control you, who'd agreed to your scheme to become immune to Amortentia – preferably someone dying, come to think of it?" said Colin.

"That, on the other hand, may well work," said Professor Lockhart. "I suspect some very important wizards – my mind leaps to Alastor Moody – have done such a thing."

"Everyone should do that," said Colin. "Oh, or if you had a couple getting married, they could both take Amortentia for each other, at their wedding, and then they wouldn't really be controlling each other, because it would be mutual, in an infinite loop-" Gasps and gags had long ago started to come from throughout the class.

"Mr. Creevey," said Professor Lockhart, "Amortentia is incredibly expensive to produce, and not because of its thoroughly illegal status, but because to brew even a small sip requires the permanent sacrifice of one wizard's magic and another's wand. It is not easy to find wizards willing to make that sacrifice. On top of that, Amortentia is flatly banned outside of carefully controlled Ministry-approved ventures, and it is not easy to get any proposed use of Amortentia approved. The wedding ritual you suggest is incredibly unethical, if for less obvious reasons than regular use of Amortentia. Still, it or something like it was attempted by a Dark sect in the nineteenth century. They voluntarily ceased it when it was determined that couples mutually taking Amortentia were more likely than average to file for divorce."

"So that's why Dark Lords can't just lace their country's water supply with Amortentia," said Colin. "They need to target specific people they intend to be important followers."

"There's another reason," said Professor Lockhart, and another professor entered the room – Professor Slughorn, who was carrying a specialized cauldron with no lid – it was simply a solid iron ball, and Ginny could not imagine how it would be used. "I have gotten permission from the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts' Potions Master to display a sample of Amortentia to the class."

"Don't worry," said Professor Slughorn. "The cauldron's still empty for the moment."

"Professor Slughorn," said Blaise, "how can you-"

"Spimster Wicket," said Professor Slughorn rapidly and ashamedly, as if that were an answer.

"The one saving grace about Amortentia," said Professor Lockhart, "is that unlike many magical poisons preferred by spies and assassins, it is impossible to conceal. It is wholly immiscible, in any substance. Like oil in water, it will separate out immediately from any other fluid it is combined with. In fact, a skilled wizard will effortlessly be able to detect Amortentia in an opaque vial from yards away, because Amortentia emanates a strong magical radiation that may be felt regardless of any form of insulation applied to it."

"That is why I have chosen to show you all Amortentia today," said Professor Lockhart. "So that you may recognize in the wild the feeling it produces by mere proximity, so that you may not be tricked into consuming it. Of course this does not perfectly protect you – the standard practice of Dark Lords is to feed victims Amortentia by force, not by trickery. But it might help, to some extent. Professor Slughorn will take the cauldron around the classroom; remember the feeling the Amortentia induces in you. It should not be difficult to remember; the feeling is incredibly distinct."

"The cauldron is currently empty," said Professor Slughorn, and the screens all turned to display him. "It will momentarily summon blank Amortentia from a hidden storeroom. 'Blank Amortentia' is Amortentia that has not been primed with a master wizard; it is consequently completely harmless, but induces the same feeling as primed – that is, functional – Amortentia. None of you are to touch the cauldron, regardless, and at the end of the lesson it will be sent back to its storeroom and then to the Ministry."

Before the cauldron had even gotten near Ginny, she could feel its presence. It was like the opposite of how she had seen a Dementor described – positive memories automatically coming to the forefront of her mind, including many she couldn't even understand, but that just felt _good_ – but it was just as unpleasant, for she got the distinctive feeling that this more primal feeling was a lure, to trap her will and drown it. Ginny wasn't nearly stupid enough for that. Her destiny was her own to shape; if she came to a set of two open doors she would take whichever one she very well pleased. Still, the mere existence of the Amortentia trap unnerved her.

Ginny briefly considered that in permitting Tim to possess her, she had done something equivalent to willingly chugging Amortentia. But she reassured herself that it was counterintuitively the opposite – in so doing, she had gotten Tim's word that he shared all of her interests and priorities. She had even put in place security measure in case he attempted to hijack her life by force. She truly believed herself the master of this mysterious relationship.


	12. Blackmail in Game Theory, Part 1

"THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS WILL BE OPENED."

Three sentences were etched into the exterior wall of Hogwarts early in the morning of Harry Potter Day, in enormous lettering, readable from Hagrid's hut. Smoke softly and endlessly drifted off of the letters, and the smell of burning was faintly present throughout the castle. The spell that had been used was clearly one of power, but Headmistress McGonagall could not identify it besides suggesting that it was ancient and had not been seen since the time of the Founders. Even Fiendfyre would not have been a satisfactory explanation; it was some more powerful variant of the basic cursed fire concept, a spell from which Fiendfyre had originally been derived.

"THE LINE OF MERLIN WILL BREAK."

Talk quickly spread, and even though the administration immediately threw a tarp over the relevant wall, the twenty words were repeated in whispers over and over, throughout the school and soon in the Daily Prophet. There was no escape for anyone from the mysterious smoking ultimatum. Who had made it? Why was it so threatening? Were they able to follow through? Most of the school was fascinated, but not particularly concerned – they were following Harry's lead, though he refused to elaborate on what about the threat he found particularly interesting, or on why he did not see it as a serious crisis. Still, the words loomed large:

"UNTIL IT DOES YOU ARE NOT SAFE."

* * *

"So, this story isn't quite true, either," said Ginny. "Can you name any obvious problems with it?"

"Um," said Draco, but he was not able to think of an inconsistency. He was reeling from the mere concept of the world nearly being ended by the dissatisfaction of the being who had created it. His hand ran over the animated illustration of the Ark rocking in the waves, tiny hands reaching up from the water, trying and failing to cling onto the side, desperately trying to save themselves. "I'm afraid you'll have to answer this one for me."

"Mostly just that it doesn't match up with reality," said Ginny. "A miraculous global flood of the proportions described would have left a distinct mark in the Earth's rocks; the Earth's rocks can be used to ascertain an accurate history of natural events on the Earth. There's no reason God would remove the evidence of the Flood, the common explanation is that it's a test of faith but I already explained why that's such an insidious lie. There are too many distinct species on the Earth for them to have all diverged recently from the inhabitants of one boat, even if that boat were many times larger than any we've been built. Not to mention that you need a much larger number of individuals than described to avoid a crippling genetic bottleneck. This is not a description of how human civilization survives and rebuilds from an apocalypse that nearly causes extinction. This is a description of how ancient, tribal humans imagine human civilization surviving and rebuilding from an apocalypse that nearly causes extinction."

"So it's a myth, then," said Draco. "A legend."

"Yes," said Ginny. "But a legend originating in truth. The story of Noah is the Jewish version of the Flood Myth. The Flood Myth is a story that appears in many world religions, all of which apparently came up with it independently. Each culture's version of the Flood Myth has different details, but it's essentially the same story. Wizard archaeologists know that the Flood Myth is fallout from the destruction of Atlantis. When Atlantis was lost in time, refugees managed to flee into history, and brought with them Atlantean knowledge and magic that made them important leaders wherever they landed. The most recent, of course, was Merlin, who founded modern wizarding society. I believe Noah and his family were also such refugees. Noah appeared alongside his wife and children, among the prehistoric Jews, and he became their patriarch."

"That makes sense," said Draco, "but I thought the Jews were all Muggles when Christ was born? Isn't that a major theological point?"

"Much time passed between the time of Noah and more solidly recorded times," said Ginny. "I think the most likely explanation is that magic slowly faded from their tribe as magical ability ceased to be valued, and was eventually instead feared. Some of the wizards descended from Noah bred into Squibs, and then Muggles, while others splintered off into separate strictly magical tribes."

"Does that mean you support blood purism?" said Draco, and Ginny wasn't sure whether to read his expression as suspicion or hope.

"No," said Ginny, "not at all. Just that I think it's possible to swing too far in the other direction."

"So did God destroy Atlantis?" asked Draco. "Or is that just part of the story, too?"

"I don't know," said Ginny. "It's certainly possible; that's one common interpretation of the story. A more mundane possible interpretation is that the Atlanteans did something foolish and destroyed themselves, as is the secular line of thought since at least Merlin, and the point of the story is that whatever foolish thing they did that eventually destroyed them was something God frowns upon. There are additional books in the appendix that go into more detail about Noah's ancestors and the society he originally came from – presumably Atlantis – but they're particularly cryptic, as echoes of Atlantis tend to be. The whole of magical history is a mess of time loops from Atlantis; Wizard Christianity posits a root cause of it all in Christ." Ginny glanced at a clock. "I think it's time we take a break."

"Okay," said Draco. "What do you think of the message?"

"It's about how disobeying God can be an existential threat to an entire society," said Ginny. "Which I think is a perfectly-"

"No," said Draco, "I mean the _message_," and she immediately knew what he meant.

"Oh – it's very shocking," said Ginny. She had actually seen it in person before it had been covered up, though it was all kind of blurry; she had left some kind of party on Halloween with a headache and had trouble sleeping. The following morning, when the ultimatum was revealed, she had still been sore. "But I don't know what to think of it. It's certainly a threat, but we have no idea if the anonymous messenger is actually able to follow through on it."

"They used powerful magic to carve that into the stone of Hogwarts," said Draco. "Especially since it's apparently prevented itself from being repaired."

"I suppose that's right," said Ginny. "But if it were really worth panicking about, don't you figure you'd see more people panicking? Nobody's been pulled out of school. No one looks like they're in fear for their life."

"I think not fearing for your life around now might be a serious mistake," said Draco. "It's possible that the threat is empty, but the reference to the Chamber of Secrets means that the threat is serious. The last time it was opened was when my grandparents were in Hogwarts; a student died. I seriously doubt the new Heir intends to do anything less."

"It's a good cause, at least," said Ginny. "I don't want anyone to die, but I actually kind of want to see a few people get hurt. What they want is for the Interdict Of Merlin to end, right?"

"That's the common interpretation," said Draco.

"Well, it'd be good if it did end, right?" said Ginny. "The Interdict Of Merlin is the biggest threat to magic; it's already lost most of the magic that existed a millennium ago."

"True," said Draco. "But whoever the good guys are, we're in the crossfire. Someone is going to be killed, soon, I can feel it and I'm not even a Seer. I'd rather that that not be me."

"Or me," said Ginny. Deep down, part of her would be willing to dispense with most of her peers if she knew it would end the Interdict. Some things were simply obviously barriers to progress that had to come down. But her moral component rejected this entirely. The bad guy in this equation was clearly whoever was blackmailing Hogwarts, and Ginny did stand against them, just not on all things.

* * *

According to every post-first year and several of the teachers, Professor Columbus was infinitely more exciting than Professor Binns had ever been ("probably even when he was alive", added a few). For this he was commended, but he was still not a perfect teacher. He was a bit dotty, far less mature than his aged appearance would indicate; he would often go off on tangents that, while informative and fascinating, had little to do with the main topic. For better or for worse, he was a fun teacher. On this particular day, he was six minutes late to class, and Colin Creevey was showing everyone photographs he'd managed to take of the Heir's Ultimatum before it had been hidden. Professor Columbus ran into the classroom, twisting his beard around a stick and muttering minced oaths under his breath.

"Alright, let's begin today's lesson," said Professor Columbus. "Or, rather, let's not. Let's talk about something else that's on everyone's mind. Something historic. Let's talk about the Chamber of Secrets." There were gasps. "Yes, yes, I know. Shocking. The Chamber is among Hogwarts' biggest mysteries, which is saying quite a lot, considering the storied history of Hogwarts. It's certainly the biggest mystery relating to Salazar Slytherin, and that's even considering that no one knows where he went after abandoning Hogwarts, or when or where or how he died. Some historians have suggested that he was likely entombed in the Chamber itself – perhaps accidentally, at that; several Dark Lords throughout history claim that they have been to the Chamber and it seemed that its construction was not complete. In fact, the testimony of Dark Lords are our only source of information about the Chamber's interior. The Chamber of Secrets is well-named, and most of its secrets have been well-kept, except for vague details."

"One of the most notable details is Slytherin's Monster," said Professor Columbus. "Some details are consistent between all descriptions of Slytherin's Monster, and other details are contradicted by assorted Dark Lords. But all descriptions of the Chamber include a reference to the Monster, for the Monster is the Chamber's primary feature. Slytherin's Monster is a creature of extreme longevity, born during Slytherin's lifespan and still alive today; all accounts agree on this, and that the purpose of the Chamber was to house it for its entire natural lifespan, which, while not necessarily eternity, would have been practically the same thing from Salazar's perspective. Most agree that the Monster is serpentine, so that it may be commanded exclusively by Parselmouths."

"This limits the potential form of the Monster considerably," said Professor Columbus. "Assuming, of course, that the Monster is a known creature and not some unique hybrid, chimera or construct that Slytherin invented exclusively for the Chamber, which is, admittedly, quite an assumption. But there are only two known serpents with lifespans sufficient for Slytherin's purposes – the Ashwinder, a snake relative of the phoenix, and the Basilisk, the legendary King of Serpents. Each explanation has pros and cons. The Ashwinder is truly undying, as opposed to the Basilisk, which merely has a lifespan dwarfing a human's. So Slytherin might have selected the Ashwinder in an attempt to grant his Chamber true permanency."

"But the Basilisk is a far more likely candidate," said Professor Columbus. "It's much more glorious, easily twenty feet long and attaining an unknown maximum size in its age. It's called the King of Serpents for a reason – it's by far one of the deadliest creatures in existence, not something you want to meet in a dark alley, though it's left off of most 'deadliest creatures' lists because they're so rare, one hasn't been seen in public in centuries. I doubt Slytherin would have been able to resist the allure of the Basilisk. The Basilisk theory was confirmed in 1943, although everyone refused to admit it at the time."

"Why do I say it was confirmed?" said Professor Columbus. "Very simple – a student was killed, and the cause of death was petrification. There are four creatures known to kill their victims by petrifying them. The Gorgon is not a plausible Monster. It has a normal human lifespan and was extinct in Slytherin's time. There are still no known means to recreate a Gorgon to this day. The cockatrice is not a plausible Monster. It lives little longer than a decade. The Acromantula is not a plausible Monster, for thematic reasons – it's a spider, not a serpent, and in fact it loathes serpents and will do anything in its power to destroy them; unless Salazar's entire affinity for snakes was a lifelong red herring, his Monster was not an Acromantula. And yet they claimed it was, at the time, in 1943, because there was a student on-campus known to have an Acromantula and it made for a quick conviction! An appalling failure of our justice system. No, the creature that killed Miss Myrtle Gale was clearly a Basilisk."

"The incident in 1943 also confirmed another theory about the Chamber," said Professor Columbus. "There was quite some debate over the purpose of the Chamber, prior to 1943. Some insisted that the Monster was a repository of Interdicted lore, designed to empower Slytherin's heirs with magical secrets that the rest of the world may well have forgotten. This is dubious, as it is not even known whether magical snakes may be used to bypass the Interdict in such a way; Merlin was no fool. In 1943, the competing theory was proven; that is, that the Monster was intended as a weapon to implement Slytherin's will. What is Slytherin's will, exactly?"

"In 1943, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened," said Professor Columbus, "messages were left by the Heir, indicating that he was fulfilling Salazar Slytherin's intent by purging the world of Muggleborn wizards. This was widely seen as plausible at the time, despite that it was the first anyone had heard of such a purpose. Salazar Slytherin was the most prejudiced of the Founders, but he still never hinted at genocide of any sort as a solution. Now, we are living through history. As you all know, a message was left this week; the official position of the Hogwarts administration is that it is most likely a bluff by a wrongheaded prankster, but we all know that that is calmheaded buffoonery."

"This message," said Professor Columbus, "by Slytherin's new heir, indicates a more congruous goal: to break the Line of Merlin Unbroken, ending the Interdict of Merlin as many have said Slytherin desired. It is still in line, though, with the notion that the Chamber and its Monster are a weapon of war, a war that we are just now beginning. How will that weapon be used? Who will win? What will happen? Who knows? We are at the beginning of a new chapter of history. I implore all of you to be careful, and now let's talk about goblin wars."

* * *

A week after the message originally appeared, smoke finally stopped pouring out of its enormous letters, in the middle of the night, about eight hours before Cedric Diggory's petrified body was found beneath it.


	13. Blackmail in Game Theory, Part 2

"Hagrid, calm down," said the Headmistress, though she was barely composed herself. Hagrid had no words for her, he was too busy bawling, gripping at the stone boy as if that would resuscitate him. "_Expecto Patronum. _Find Cedric Diggory." It only gave her the same sad look she had seen on it several months earlier, immediately after Harry informed her of Dumbledore's departure. She turned back to Hagrid. "I'll be back in about six hours – which is to say, immediately." She flashed her Time-Turner at him, and he understood. She turned it only once, and investigated the new scene, which was an hour darker, and apparently devoid of either Hagrid or the petrified Cedric.

"_Expecto Patronum._ Find Cedric Diggory." The same look. She groped in the air where Cedric had been, and her arms hit a solid, invisible object. Her frown grew further down her face like ivy. "_Finite._" Cedric's stone form appeared clearly, and she knew that within an hour, Hagrid would find it. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and slowly turned her Time-Turner five more times, with her eyes closed. When it finally became clear that Cedric had been petrified further back than she could travel, she gave up and left the scene, complete with the invisible Cedric she had revealed five hours later.

Minerva knew that she could not create any serious disturbance that would wake her up six hours earlier than it already had. But she could begin responding to the situation immediately, as long as she did so quietly and privately. Wait a minute – speaking of disturbances that would wake her up earlier – Hogwarts had wards that were set off immediately if a student was killed, to alert the Headmaster. Why hadn't they gone off for Cedric? The realization of this discrepancy made her very worried, for a few moments, before she realized that she should coherently think about the problem, and the solution almost immediately occurred to her: petrification was for all intents and purposes death, but they were magically distinct processes and Hogwarts' wards might not view them as the same. In fact, she vaguely remembered Albus mentioning at some point that Myrtle's petrification had briefly caused confusion, as it had not set off the wards. She should have been anticipating such a thing in light of the recent threat, but hindsight is 20/20.

"_Expecto Patronum._ Find Harry Potter and tell him that there is an emergency and he is to meet me in the Great Hall. He is not to make a disturbance on his way there." There was a slight pause, and then the glowing cat returned, and spoke: "Harry Potter says-" It switched to Harry's voice:

"Alright, I'm coming." Minerva paused to ensure she could begin the next message.

"Find Ginny Weasley and tell her that there is an emergency and she is to meet me in the Great Hall. She is not to make a disturbance on her way there." Another pause... "Ginny Weasley says-"

"On my way." Her voice sounded displeased that it was being awoken so early; Minerva did not blame her. There was one more message to send; it was inspired by an offhand comment she remembered, that Myrtle might have been saved had she not removed her glasses to cry immediately before she was attacked.

"Find Horace Slughorn and tell him that a student has been attacked and petrified; he is not to make any disturbance, but he is to scour the grounds for any glass that might be used in a Potion Of Reanimation. He is to come to the administrative room behind the Great Hall immediately if he finds any, and otherwise he is to give up his search four hours and fifty minutes from now."

* * *

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall looked down at the two students she had gathered – the first year girl she had occasionally seen with the red hair, and the second year boy she was all-too-familiar with. She had first called them to the Great Hall, and then she had taken them back to the much smaller and more secure room reserved for staff immediately next to it. She had still not explained the situation to them, but she was about to.

"A student has been attacked," said the Headmistress, "using Slytherin's Monster. Exactly like the attack nearly fifty years ago. Petrified. They are almost certainly lost to us."

"Almost?" said Harry.

"Yes, almost," said the Headmistress. "There is a potion that may recover victims of petrification, but to brew it requires glass that was between their eyes and their attacker's. There is no evidence any such glass exists in this case, but I am running a thorough search nonetheless."

"Distribute safety goggles to everyone in the school immediately," said Harry.

"I will consider the pros and cons of such a solution before the day is out," said the Headmistress. "But first - I have called the two of you here because, though I could not imagine either of you committing this crime, you are the only two suspects we have. You are Hogwarts' only two confirmed Parselmouths. You were both sorted into Slytherin, though Albus managed to steer one of you away from that House regardless."

"You are both subject," continued the Headmistress, over Harry's halfhearted attempt to interrupt her, "to numerous mysterious discrepancies on your record suggesting the potential involvement of old Dark Magic in your soul. I believe Mr. Potter's discrepancies have by now been thoroughly explained, at least to me, but they still exist. Miss Weasley's discrepancies remain unresolved, though we have ruled out the obvious explanation that she is being possessed." Ginny flinched, and the Headmistress wasn't sure what to think of it.

"Wait, you have a test for possession?" asked Harry. "Why don't you run it on the entire school as soon as possible?"

"It's too magically intensive, Mr. Potter," said the Headmistress. "We can only afford to run it on those we already suspect." Harry hummed and considered other solutions.

"Headmistress McGonagall," said Harry, "has it occurred to you that there might be unknown Parselmouths at the school?"

"Of course it has occurred to me," said the Headmistress, increasingly frustrated. "But I am operating only on the information I have."

"I'm aware of at least one additional Parselmouth at the school," said Ginny.

"Who is it?" asked the Headmistress, immediately.

"My brother, Ron," said Ginny. "He seems a bit dull about it, though, and I'm not sure if he realizes he's a Parselmouth. I had to speak a bit slowly for him to understand." The Headmistress considered this, and realized something.

"Ah, of course," said the Headmistress. "That is present in your family, isn't it. That explains that discrepancy to my satisfaction. I'll keep an eye on him as well, but your point is well taken; this does confirm the seriousness of the problem. The only people we can truly rule out as Parselmouths are the other first year Slytherins, because they did not respond as you did to the Sorting Hat."

"I just thought of an obvious test we could use to determine whether anyone's a Parselmouth," said Harry. "Just put them all through a _Sapespeck_ field that bursts Parseltongue white noise directly at their head, like what Ginny went through, and measure their response."

"Noted," said the Headmistress. "But I did not call you here to give me ideas, Mr. Potter. I called both of you here so I could tell you this as soon as possible: in the likely event that neither of you are guilty, I am truly sorry. But if you are responsible for the death of Cedric Diggory, we will find you. And the Line of Merlin Unbroken will not break, and the Interdict of Merlin will not end. And you will go to Nurmengard, or hopefully somewhere worse, for the rest of your natural life."

"I didn't do it!" said Ginny, rather loudly, on the verge of tears.

"With all due respect, Headmistress," said Harry, "you know fully well why I couldn't possibly have an interest in, you know-" The Headmistress's face suddenly changed from anger to horror. Either of the two children sitting in front of her could theoretically be the Heir of Slytherin, but it was rather unlikely, and she had certainly made a dreadful mistake to take her anger out on them.

"I'm sorry," said the Headmistress. "I do not suspect either of you, except for official purposes of completeness. You may both go back to your dorms." Ginny left first; she had nothing else to say. Harry lingered; he had more ideas to share. "What is it, Mr. Potter?"

"Okay, first, and this is probably a stupid question, but it couldn't hurt to ask," said Harry, "is there any possibility that the petrified body you found is false, and Cedric has actually been kidnapped-"

"No," said the Headmistress. "It was the first thing I tested. My Patronus cannot send a message to him. He is not with us."

"Of course," said Harry. "I should have realized. Then there's one idea I have to possibly restore Cedric – if and only if, of course, you can't find any glass for Professor Slughorn to use in the potion."

"It is by far the most likely outcome that no such glass turns up," said the Headmistress. "You may implement any idea you have when we catch up with Time - I went back the full six hours to investigate, but unfortunately the attack had been earlier; his statue had been hidden to delay its being found."

"Alright," said Harry. "My idea involves the Stone, so we'll need to transport him to the Hospital."

"Granted," said the Headmistress. "Hagrid is at the scene we are returning to, and he should not have trouble lifting him and carrying him there."

"Then should I wait wherever you're waiting for Time to catch up?" asked Harry.

"No," said the Headmistress. "I have more plans to implement if at all possible, but you should get more rest, if at all possible."

"I don't know if that is possible, Headmistress," said Harry. "But I'll try. Goodbye, and good luck; Hogwarts is counting on you."

"Indeed it is," said the Headmistress. The Boy-Who-Lived left, and Minerva McGonagall buried her head in her hands.

* * *

Cedric Diggory was well and truly gone. His brain-state was nowhere to be found, and so it didn't matter what he was Transfigured into, or whether that Transfiguration was made permanent with the Philosopher's Stone. Harry's Patronus was not able to revive the warm and dead, not even at the cost of his own life and magic. Like Myrtle Gale before him, Cedric Diggory's stone body would remain perfectly inanimate stone forever, many lifetimes after it was lowered into the ground beneath another, smoother stone bearing his name.

The first to break down completely was Hagrid. He had already been sobbing profusely, but now none in the Peverell Family Hospital could possibly remain unaware of the half-giant's cries of grief, his deafening mumbles of Cedric's natural affinity for magical creatures and how it reminded him of himself, of how it wasn't fair, of how it didn't make sense.

The second was Amos Diggory. The Headmistress had put off informing him of his son's condition until it was certain that he could not be recovered, to avoid prolonging the misery. But the misery was still prolonged; first, the entire house became impossibly loud with anger and sadness, and the entire neighborhood could feel it, and then it slowly became very quiet, and the entire neighborhood could feel that it was even worse. Not since the chaotic fall of the Dark Lord had magical Britain's upper classes experienced so much grief.

The third was Cho Chang. Panicked whispers and rumors had quickly spread throughout the school, but when Cho came to an understanding of the situation, she had the same initial thought as the Headmistress – she summoned her Patronus and attempted to contact Cedric. But when it did not respond to her, and she knew that the rumors were true, she began to run and cry, from the Ravenclaw Girls' Dormitory to the Ravenclaw Common Room to nowhere in particular, and that was when the school as a whole knew that they were under attack. For a few unfortunate moments, the sense of security that came with the social order dissolved.


	14. Blackmail in Game Theory, Part 3

Ginny had been seething in the middle of the night, when she returned to her bed. Now, several hours had passed, and everyone was waking up around her, and she barely felt any better. The school thought they had tested her for possession, and so the possibility wasn't worth considering, but they hadn't thought that she might have been possessed since. Ginny knew for a fact that she had, though she certainly wasn't going to let that particular detail out. She put on the gloves that she had managed to secure, though she barely trusted the gloves more than she trusted Tim; they were flimsy and had little holes in them she had had to patch up with Spellotape. _Note to self: if I continue to keep Tim, try to get higher-quality gloves out of Draco._ She picked up Tim's paper abode and placed it in a bag, which she carried out to the Slytherin Common Room.

"Colin!" shouted Ginny, finding him and making her way over to him. "I need something from you again-"

"Everyone to the Great Hall!" said a prefect, for the twenty fifth time this morning. "Headmistress's orders!"

"Um, let's talk as soon as possible," said Ginny.

"Okay," said Colin; he followed Ginny all the way to the Great Hall, though Ginny refused to be pressed for more details.

"I'd prefer to tell you privately," said Ginny. "In an empty room somewhere in the dungeons."

"I know just the place," said Colin, though Ginny was unimpressed; it was not difficult to find unused, unattended rooms in the dungeons, or anywhere in Hogwarts, for that matter. Soon, everyone was sitting at the Great Hall, and it gradually dawned on Ginny what was coming; Headmistress McGonagall was standing at the podium with a grave look on her face. When everyone had settled in, the Headmistress began to speak.

"I am afraid I must be the bearer of terrible news once more," said the Headmistress, and Ginny knew that she had been correct, about why they were all gathered there. "I am sure many, if not most, of you are aware by now that a student has been killed. It is true. Cedric Diggory, a fifth year Hufflepuff and star student, was found petrified last night. The greatest efforts of the worlds' greatest healers could not restore him to life. He is truly lost to us. The Diggorys have requested a public funeral this weekend. All of you knew Cedric, and I expect that many of you will attend."

Ginny scanned the room, and saw that each table was miserable in its own way. The Gryffindors had clearly already caught on to what the Headmistress had thus far not said, that it was murder, and the blood of every one of them was boiling with anger; Ginny wouldn't want them to so much as _consider_ the possibility that she was the Heir of Slytherin. The Hufflepuffs had lost a friend, a peer, one of them, an ideal. The Ravenclaws were pushed into a higher state of grief by the wailing of Cho Chang, who cried as loudly as you could without causing much literal noise. Some of the Ravenclaws – particularly Harry, and even more particularly Hermione – had an aura of guilt about them, as though they were responsible for this for not preventing it from happening. And the Slytherins? The Slytherins were as sad as all of the other Houses put together, in large part because they knew that every single one of them would pay the price for Cedric's death, regardless of their guilt.

"After careful deliberation, we have decided not to close Hogwarts," said the Headmistress, "though all classes will be temporarily suspended until next Tuesday. Before then, you are all permitted, and even encouraged, to visit home via the Floo Network. It is not mandatory, however; Hogwarts will remain fully operational. Because, you see, as most of you have probably already concluded, Cedric Diggory was murdered. His murderer is something Muggles call a 'terrorist', one who enacts violence to cause chaos and disarray, to attract attention to their goals. I cannot possibly imagine a possible reaction that would play better into this terrorist's plans than closing Hogwarts. So Hogwarts will stay open, to demonstrate to the culprit that their bloody quest will prove entirely fruitless."

"Yes, the murder was almost certainly committed using Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets," said the Headmistress. "No, you should not harass Slytherin House about it. They are not responsible for this, they have quite enough other things to worry about, and I once again cannot imagine an outcome the killer would prefer to a wedge being driven between Slytherin House and the rest of the school."

"You might ask what we are doing to protect you, then, if we are not shutting down the school, and the murderer has not yet been identified or apprehended," said the Headmistress. "That's a fair question, and we do have an answer. We have manufactured safety goggles for every Hogwarts student. Because of the way petrification works, you may still be attacked while wearing these goggles, but you will not be killed, or even permanently harmed; merely taken out of commission for the time it takes to brew a Potion of Reanimation. The safety goggles will be firmly magically affixed to your face at all times. If you feel that this is unnecessary, or too large of an inconvenience for you to bear, then you are free to ask your parents to withdraw you from Hogwarts, but I suspect they will mostly tell you that you don't have your priorities in order."

"In order to identify the murderer," said the Headmistress, "who is as of yet unknown, I ask that you not mistrust each other – again, that is what they would want – but do consider the suspicious behavior of those around you. If someone is acting unusual, out-of-character, or simply Dark, I advise that you report them to me or another staff member immediately. Do not suppress your first suspicions. Reports that do not ultimately lead us closer to the culprit will not be punished, as long as they are made in good faith. We must all act together so that the person responsible for this horrible crime may be identified, so that they may be apprehended and punished.

"And rest assured," said the Headmistress, "the murderer, or murderers, will be identified. They will be apprehended. And they will be punished. Because today, we are all Cedric Diggory, every one of us. Standing up to our foes, standing up to death itself, just to get an education. And that state of things cannot stand. There will be peace, because we will make it." The staff, with the exception of the Headmistress herself, walked out into the crowd, dividing the room into distinct sections, carrying boxes of goggles. "You will now receive your safety equipment from the nearest instructor, and a Charm will be applied to stick them in front of your eyes. If you are visiting relatives, you may request to have the Charm removed when you leave; it will be reapplied on your return. When classes resume, Professor Flitwick will teach all years how to reapply the Charm to yourself, in case it should come undone. When you receive your goggles and Fixture-Fixing Charm, you may return to your dormitories."

* * *

"Now put your arm around me like this," said Ginny.

"Um, Ginny?" asked Colin.

"No, this is still part of the magical experiment," said Ginny. "Now, I'm going to use this quill to write in this book-"

"It's that same book again!" said Colin. "Is it causing trouble again? Is this safe?"

"Yes," said Ginny. "That this is safe, I mean. And the experiment is to find out if it's causing trouble. Now, I'm going to use this quill to write in this book a bit; please don't look at what I'm writing, it's private. Then, I'm going to take my gloves off, close the book, and hiss at myself a bit. Then I'm going to drop the book, put my gloves back on, and put the book back in its bag. If at any point I do anything remotely unexpected, that's where you come in; I want you to grab the book out of my hands and throw it across the room. Understood?"

"Understood," said Colin.

"And of course, it goes without saying that this is all very secret and you are not to tell anyone," said Ginny.

"Okay," said Colin.

"Alright," said Ginny. "Let's start." She took out a quill, and began to write:

"Hello, Tim." An uncomfortable lull, and then a response appeared.

"You're wearing gloves."

"Indeed, I am. I wasn't sure if you'd even notice. Trying to possess me, are you?"

"No, of course not." wrote Tim. "I just checked to see if I could. You are a properly paranoid girl, Ginny Weasley."

"Yes, and that is the purpose of this entire conversation. There has been a lethal attack on a Hogwarts student, using the Chamber of Secrets."

"The Chamber of Secrets... There had been a similar attack shortly before I was captured... very upsetting to hear that it's happened again. I know some secrets about the Chamber of Secrets, but none that relate to either attack."

"I'm sure you do. I'd like to ask you some pointed questions in Parseltongue. I've boosted security from our last such encounter."

"Alright. Then I assume you are removing the gloves?" Ginny didn't bother to answer in writing; she simply took her gloves off and felt the foreign presence entering her mind.

_"What do you wissh to assk?_" Ginny asked herself in hisses, but it was actually, of course, the diary speaking through her. Ginny could feel Colin growing nervous behind her.

"_May you causse me to forget thingss ssimply by possssessssing me?_"

"_No. Regardlessss of the level of control I assssume, you alwayss retain full awarenessss when possssessssed._"

_"May you remove my memoriess by cassting a reflexxive sspell when possssessssing me?_"

"_No. Cannot casst reflexxive memory removal sspell. Theoretically I could possssessss ssomeone elsse, and remove your memoriess thuss, but I have done no ssuch thing._"

"_Then where wass I when sstudent was killed?_"

"_How iss it that you exxpect me to know? When wass the attack?_"

"_At night, when I wass ssuppossed to be assleep._"

"_Then I would ssay you were where you were ssuppossed to be. To the besst of my knowledge, you were not pressent at the sscene, if that iss what iss worrying you._"

"_Wass I ressponssible?_"

"_Ssome of your older friendss have conccept-_"

"_Ansswer me!_"

"_I am. Ssome of your older friendss have conccept called hero ressponssibility, wherein particularly competent people sshould feel guilt for tragediess, because they did not foressee and prevent them. That iss only way I could imagine your being ressponsible for thiss._"

"_Were you ressponssible?_"

"_Builder of chamber iss ressponssible. Thiss iss what he built the chamber for. Infamouss masster wass firsst to fulfill intended purposse of chamber, ass weapon. Learned ssome ssecretss of chamber from him. Whoever is now opening chamber is continuing infamouss masster's work, and if not sstopped, will rule world ussing chamber. I dessire to sstop them._"

"_I apologize for ssusspecting you. Possssibility that possssessssion victim wass ussed to open chamber was brought up._"

"_You are not my victim. You are my partner."_

_"Goodbye._"

"_Goodbye._" Ginny removed her hand freely from the diary – once again, Tim had not exerted overriding control over her, to prevent her from doing so – dropping it and putting her gloves back on.

"So did it go well?" asked Colin.

"Very well," said Ginny; she had put her gloves back on and returned the diary to the bag she was using to transport it. She then indicated for Colin to let her go, and she started for the door with him.

"I mean, I assumed so, since I didn't have to save you," said Colin.

"Uh huh," said Ginny.

"Hey, Ginny, um," said Colin. "I was wondering if maybe, some time, we could, um..."

"Oh!" said Ginny. "Thank you, but I'm already seeing someone, Colin."

* * *

"Hey! Harry!" said Ginny, managing to find him by a staircase between matters of official business.

"Oh, hi, Ginny," said Harry. "I didn't know it was you."

"I take it there's no meeting this week?" asked Ginny.

"Indeed," said Harry. "Half of the Squad is either visiting home or dead, and I'm caught up in some business myself."

"What do you think about this whole mess?" asked Ginny.

"It's a mess," said Harry. "Frankly, I'd be shocked if no one else died by the time this is all over. Whoever is opening the Chamber is probably very clever, at least in some ways. They'll find a way to route around the goggles. Of course, I don't mean to imply that they're brilliant – this whole blackmail scheme of theirs is simply not very smart, as far as I can tell. They could kill every boy, girl, and teacher in Hogwarts and it wouldn't make anyone end the Interdict of Merlin."

"Could you see the Interdict of Merlin ending any time soon?" said Ginny.

"It's even less likely after this," said Harry. "Because, you see, now if they ended the Interdict, that would be signaling to whoever's done this that their plan to end it by killing Hogwarts students was a success. It would be signaling to any future Dark Lords following in their footsteps that killing people is a good way to make people pay attention to their agenda. It makes the world a generally worse place. That's the thing about blackmail – if you give into it, then it makes the concept of blackmail a stronger one, which means there's a moral imperative not to give into it."

"That's a shame," said Ginny. "So absolutely nothing good will come of this."

"Indeed," said Harry. "Although I'd hesitate to call the Interdict of Merlin being canceled a good thing. Merlin had some good reasons for putting it in place originally, and I'd be hard-pressed to argue with him."

"Muggles don't have to deal with the Interdict of Merlin in scientific research, and look at all that they've accomplished," said Ginny. "Think about all that you would have accomplished if the Interdict had been removed for you."

"Muggles are more advanced than wizards, yes," said Harry. "But they're also much less stable. There are dozens of Muggle inventions that could end their world, in varying degrees, if misused in the precisely incorrect way. I suspect – no, know – that that problem is even worse with magic. Not to mention, of course, that I don't actually know how you would cancel the Interdict of Merlin. I know some people in very important positions of power relevant to the Interdict of Merlin – Amelia Bones, for instance – and I'm pretty sure none of them know how to cancel it, either. I'm pretty sure nobody does, and that's a good thing."

"Let's agree to disagree," said Ginny.

"That's rather difficult for a true rationalist," said Harry, "because true rationalists will necessarily reach the same conclusion, if they're operating on the same priors using actual rationality. Which reminds me, that you really need to examine some of your beliefs and why you believe them."

"What beliefs?" said Ginny, and she did not like the direction the conversation was taking one bit.

"Come on, Ginny," said Harry. "You literally wear a big sign on your chest that says 'I'm a Christian.'" Ginny looked down, confused, and saw her cross medallion.

"Wizard Christian," said Ginny.

"I know," said Harry. "I researched all of the magical belief systems a long time ago, when I first learned of magic, to see if any of them had any more evidence or sense than the Muggle ones. And sure enough, they didn't. It's exactly the same process, a vicious cycle based on broken thinking..." Harry had long ago learned to say "broken thinking" instead of "magical thinking" if you wanted a wizard to have any idea what you meant.

"I've done research as well," said Ginny, "and not come to the same conclusion."

"Of course not," said Harry. "It takes a lot of effort to fix bad mental habits; rationality isn't easy."

"How much research did you do?" said Ginny.

"Enough," said Harry.

"I'd like to talk to you at length about the evidence," said Ginny. Harry stared at her, and then smiled.

"Well, that at least suggests genuine belief rather than belief in belief, so that's a good sign," said Harry. "Perhaps we could meet somewhere in the dungeons – outside the Slytherin dorms, of course – next weekend, after classes resume, and talk. I'm open, then."

"Alright," said Ginny. "I hope to see you there." Harry nodded, strolled off, checked a watch, muttered something vulgar to himself, and stepped out of sight while turning something in his pocket. After a few minutes, Ginny managed to twist things from "some of my most strongly-held beliefs are being challenged by my idol" to "Harry Potter asked me out on a date!"


	15. Blackmail in Game Theory, Aftermath

_Aftermath, Lesath Lestrange:_

Lesath tapped his foot nervously, and waited for the staircase to the Headmistress's office to present itself to him. A disgusted-looking Professor Slughorn had instructed him to report to the Headmistress at once. People looked disgusted at him all the time, but given the context, Lesath's heart was pounding, and his mind was racing through every bad thing he had ever done, wondering which one he would be expelled for – or if perhaps he was overestimating the severity of the situation, and he would simply be suspended or killed. The staircase turned to face him, and he ascended to meet his fate. First she spoke something inaudible into her desk, and then she turned to confront Lesath directly.

"Mr. Lestrange?" said the Headmistress. "Please sit down." She sounded calm and sympathetic, and not in the fake-calm manner of someone planning to expel, suspend, or kill you. So Lesath sat down, and kept an open mind, and barely even wondered what was going on. "I am afraid that this conversation will not be pleasant, but given the wider circumstances occurring at the school, that is frankly a relief."

"What is it," muttered Lesath; he was still fairly certain he was in trouble.

"You have turned out to be our first false alarm," said the Headmistress, "and quite an alarm, too. Your case has demonstrated a rather severe flaw in my initial plan, which is that, while children are certainly not to be ignored, immaturity is considered a character flaw for a reason. You see..." She paused, and considered how to relate the recent events to him. "After I announced to the school that, to find the 'Heir of Slytherin', anything suspicious should be reported without question, I was immediately inundated with reports about you. Nearly all of them from girls, most all of them from younger Slytherin girls."

"Who?" said Lesath. He was trying and failing to hide his anger.

"For the sake of obvious privacy concerns, I am not at liberty to say," said the Headmistress. "Now, of course I followed up on these reports, asking for specifics on what about you they considered suspicious. A few of them lied, providing half-baked and easily falsified stories designed to incriminate you as the Heir; they will be disciplined for malicious abuse of Hogwarts resources. But most of them simply described your general behavior and demeanor as of late. They did not seem to understand that your behavior is suggestive not of a secret Dark Lord, but of an awkward teenage boy who is out-of-touch with social norms and standards. In short, the system I created zeroed in on you not because you were a reasonable suspect, but because you were unpopular." Lesath looked back and forth, deep in thought, and the Headmistress stopped because she could see that he needed to process this, though she was at a natural stopping point anyway.

"So why are you telling me all of this?" said Lesath.

"Because," said the Headmistress, starting slowly, "though your accusers did not choose the correct venue to put forward their concerns, we are still glad to have found out, because Hogwarts does not tolerate inappropriate or boundary-violating behavior, particularly of a sexual nature. This is your first warning. If the behavior continues, you will be given detention, and ultimately will face criminal charges, suspension, or even expulsion if it goes further. Is this understood?"

"Yes," said Lesath.

"If you feel you need to learn more about social boundaries and norms, I could direct you to a professional-"

"No," said Lesath, and the Headmistress frowned.

"I advise that you don't bother anyone anytime soon," said the Headmistress. "Now, go. Off. It's bad enough dealing with the Heir of Slytherin and Slytherin's Monster without awkward teenage boys too." She halfheartedly smiled, and Lesath did, too, and left. Girls were so weird. Perhaps he wouldn't find romance until after graduation.

What long years those would be.

* * *

_Aftermath, Draco Malfoy:_

"Hello, Harry," said Draco.

"Hello, Draco," said Harry. He seemed oddly uncomfortable to be talking to Draco. First, Harry apparently hadn't been very well-trained in the Slytherin arts, if he was this bad at hiding his discomfort. Second, his discomfort was very disconcerting. Draco thought he had chose to stop talking to Harry, not the other way around.

"I've wanted to talk to you, about... what's been going on," said Draco. "Do you have time now, or are you busy?" Harry groaned, and instinctively reached for his pocket.

"I always have time," said Harry, and they found a quiet space with a bench. Harry cast as many anti-eavesdropping spells as he considered appropriate.

"Good," said Draco. "We haven't talked in quite some time. How have you been? What have you been up to?"

"I've been fine," said Harry, "and I've mostly been up to official business I'm afraid I can't tell you, or nearly any of my classmates, about."

"Of course," said Draco, concealing his irritation entirely. "Do you have any more idea than the rest of us what's going on, who's causing trouble?"

"Perhaps a bit, but not much," said Harry. "If we'd caught the perpetrator, they would already be publicly known and behind bars. The only alternate case I can see is if we'd caught them but they'd escaped, in which case their identity and that we'd caught them would still be publicly known. The problem is that we don't even have a testable hypothesis, Draco. We don't even have any suspects. We had a couple of suspects at first, but they were very quickly cleared." Draco frowned.

"You're a Parselmouth, Potter," said Draco.

"Yes, I know," said Harry. "That's why I was one of the initial suspects. But I can't be the person doing this, Draco. I have no interest whatsoever in breaking the Line of Merlin Unbroken or the Interdict of Merlin. In fact, there are reasons I can't tell you about that I believe breaking either of those would be a very bad thing."

"I don't mean to cast aspersions on you," said Draco, "but couldn't that simply mean that you're the perpetrator and you're playing one level higher? Trying to drum up pro-Interdict sentiment, to protect it?" Harry swallowed.

"No one's thought of that as far as I know," said Harry. "I'd barely even considered that. It's technically plausible, but there are Muggles who believe in such plans, they're known as 'false flag operations', and the Muggles who are most inclined to believe that they've happened are generally extremely cognitively deficient, but I can't think of any particular reason that couldn't be what happened here. It couldn't have been me, though; as far as I know, there is no nearby risk of the Line of Merlin Unbroken breaking. It's just not something that could be done. Whoever is causing all of this trouble is misinformed about how the Line works, either because they're demanding we destroy it, which is impossible, or because they're trying to protect it from being destroyed, which is also impossible."

"Hmm," said Draco. "Whoever did this is still definitely a Parselmouth. Do you know any other Parselmouths around the school? Parselmouths are supposed to know each other."

"I was only aware of one other Parselmouth at the school," said Harry, "and she was also one of the initial suspects."

"No, Granger-" started Draco. Harry smiled. "It is Granger, isn't it?"

"You are very perceptive, Draco," said Harry. "Don't let her know you know, though; she would kill me."

"Of course," said Draco.

"And she was aware of one other Parselmouth at the school," said Harry, "who to the best of my knowledge was investigated and cleared when it was determined he didn't even know he was a Parselmouth before."

"So there's a secret Parselmouth at school," said Draco. "Either a student or a teacher. Lockhart-"

"Maybe," said Harry. "I have an alternate theory, though. Voldemort was a Parselmouth, you know."

"No..." said Draco, not because he didn't know, but because he could already tell that Potter was leading into some deeper horrifying revelation.

"Voldemort might not be completely dead," said Harry. "I believe, based on evidence, that he has objects lying around in random places, by which he might possess someone – a teacher or student at Hogwarts, for example. And then, theoretically, he could speak in Parseltongue, and open the Chamber." Draco stared into space for something like twenty seconds, with the most appalled look on his face. "What? What is it?"

"I think I might have-" Draco's voice went out, and Harry shot up out of his seat.

"What happened?" asked Harry, with much more force, and he directed Draco to stand up and walk with him – and quickly, too.

"IhadamysteriousobjectlefttomebymyfatherthatcouldwriteandthinklikeahumananditconvincedmetogiveittoanotherHogwartsstudentGinnyWeasleyandohmyGodisshegoingtobeokay?" said Draco, keeping up with Harry.

"Follow me," said Harry.

"Are we going to find Ginny, and save her?" said Draco.

"Probably," said Harry, "but we're talking to the Headmistress first. I want you to tell her everything you know."

"Okay," said Draco, "but what if the Headmistress can't do anything?"

"Then we won't be able to do anything either," said Harry.

"Will we be able to save her?" said Draco. "Will she be punished?"

"Assuming that your suggested explanation is the correct one," said Harry, "which seems like the Occam's Razor solution at the moment, then we will almost certainly be able to save her, and she will almost certainly not be punished. Nobody is held accountable for things they do while they're possessed. Like-" Harry stopped himself from saying something, and Draco wondered what it could possibly be. Here was the entrance to the Headmistress's room. Harry approached the password-receiving gargoyle, but was interrupted by-

"Harry! Draco!" said Professor Lockhart. "What are you doing here?"

"No time, Professor," said Harry, and he whispered something Draco somehow managed not to hear at all. Absolutely nothing happened, and Harry repeated whatever he'd just said. "Why isn't it working?"

"The Headmistress is in a particularly private meeting with a student," said Professor Lockhart, "and I advise that you return in ten minutes."

"But this is more important!" said Harry. "This is an emergency!" A suspicion was beginning to sneak up on Draco, and Professor Lockhart raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" said the Professor. "What kind of emergency?"

* * *

_Aftermath, Cho Chang:_

"_There is a fountain filled with blood, drawn from Immanuel's veins, and sinners plunge beneath that flood, lose all their guilty stains._"

As Cedric's body was lowered into the cold and lonely ground, Cho Chang failed to hear the words of the hymn being sung. It was just as well; she was not an adherent of the religion in which the words had significance. Nor, for that matter, was the majority of the choir singing it. It was just a tradition, a funeral tradition, an ancient thing that goes unquestioned and largely unseen, a specific type of prior that can be particularly difficult to root out. It was simply how the funeral was supposed to be.

But this funeral was not supposed to be at all. It wasn't supposed to go like this. Cho Chang was supposed to become a widow – or create a widower – around age 200. She wasn't supposed to be mourning the love of her life at 13. Of course, Cedric wasn't truly the love of Cho's life – apparently. Because she would live much, much longer. Wouldn't she? Actually, with the advent of the Peverell Family Hospital, she never had to die at all. …Cedric had never had to die at all. They could have truly been together forever, exploring the stars in some magic craft of Harry's. Why had that been ripped away from her? Why had Cedric been ripped away from everybody? Cho tried to feel hatred or anger at whoever had done this, but she was not capable; her grief was too overwhelming of an emotion.

"When he laughed, you swore you'd never cry again," Cho had told a reporter, through tears, before the funeral had begun. But Cho didn't want to talk to anyone, least of all the press. She just wanted to think, but that was too hard; depression releases chemicals in the brain that inhibit regular thinking. So she just wanted to take in the world around her, and judge it. Nobody else at the funeral looked nearly sad enough. They all looked sad, just not enough. It was as if they had all gotten so used to carrying out funerals that they were simply playing a role, and it had slipped their minds how genuinely awful it all was, particularly now, now that we were all so close to the finish line that the Philosopher's Stone represented.

The Malfoys were sitting next to the Weasleys. The Malfoys were sitting next to the Weasleys. The Malfoys didn't even seem bothered by that. Had Cedric's death truly shaken everybody up that much? That made Cho feel ever so infinitesimally better. Draco Malfoy had lost his father last year, hadn't he? Cho supposed she would find no shortage at Hogwarts of people who had experienced death. She still felt particularly alone.

It occurred to Cho that with the advent of the Philosopher's Stone, there was absolutely no reason that anything like this should ever happen again. Accidents and murders? If anything short of immediately or quickly lethal damage could be recovered, why wouldn't you minimize risk as much as possible? There was no reason whatsoever that this couldn't or shouldn't be Cho's last funeral. There was no reason whatsoever that this couldn't or shouldn't be the last funeral in the world.

Cho had not been able to cast her Patronus, not since she had learned of Cedric's death in certain terms. She was still recovering from her mental reeling, and would not return to Hogwarts until January, still in miserable condition. But it was that thought – the last funeral in the world – that would allow Cho to cast a different Patronus, several years afterwards.

* * *

_Aftermath, Tom Riddle Prime:_

The man who could not even remember his own name drifted through space, amidst Platonic forms and timeless physics. He was and was not a gemstone, and so he could and could not think – like a sleeping man, he was vaguely aware of everything around him, but he could not hold onto any of it. He could not think, and he could not remember; he could not even long for the day he would be free. He could only perceive and dream, like an Elder God that had once been human and would someday be human once more.

"Headmistress," said the boy, who was wearing the man who could not even remember his own name, "I am becoming increasingly certain of one of my first hypotheses, that this is the work of a horcrux of Voldemort."

"I thought he was on your person," said the older woman, and she gestured at the finger that held the man. "And in this state, he could not access his horcruxes."

"He is," said the boy, "and he can't, but he made two types of horcruxes. We have been referring to the more advanced type. He also made a more primitive kind, with entirely different properties." The older woman frowned.

"Properties that you suspect leave them dangerous," said the older woman.

"Yes, absolutely," said the boy. "Because instead of being connected to the main Voldemort, and therefore being vulnerable to attacks on Voldemort's main body that also influence his soul, they contain an entirely independent copy of Voldemort, diverging from the original at the moment that they're created." The older woman grew a look of horror. "The only possible complicating factor, which is completely ambiguous, is that I was under the impression Voldemort had destroyed many, most, or all of them himself, when he moved onto the more advanced sort of horcrux."

"No," said the older woman. "Not Tom Riddle. He always had some sort of backup plan in mind in case we defeated his first intentions."

"Speaking of the original Tom Riddle, though," said the boy, "I'd prefer that we not keep him on my person anymore. Even with all of the extra security measures you've placed on Hermione and me, I feel the risk is too large, particularly if I'm correct that it's another Tom Riddle doing all of this." He removed the gemstone that was the man.

"If not on your person, then where?" asked the older woman, and she visibly panicked and squirmed away. "The Transfiguration must be sustained."

"Yes," said the boy, "but it doesn't need to be sustained by myself. It was foolish to assume it did in the first place; I'm too important to put another egg in my basket like that. It should preferably be sustained by someone trusted off-campus. I'd suggest Moody, but he seems a bit obvious. How about a high-ranking Unspeakable? I can't imagine any Dark Lord catching Bode off-guard..."


	16. Programming

In Charms class, on the first day that classes resumed, Ginny was distracted. She could afford to; she had a natural talent for Charms. Was it right to pursue Draco and Harry simultaneously? Tim had dismissed the matter as girlish foolishness immediately upon hearing of it, so she had tried to block it out of her mind, to feel more mature. But it was a serious concern. Perhaps almost as serious as the question of whether it was right to pursue either of them. Ginny certainly felt like a girl, and was physically one so far as anyone could tell, but her soul said something different, and it was a routinely-made point, where Ginny came from, that the soul was what truly counted, in the end. The Bible prescribed awful punishments for male homosexuality, though those punishments had been abandoned long ago, and secularism, the most dominant religion in the modern wizarding world, thought it was cruel even to disapprove of the practice. Ginny would hate to wind up in Hell over some dumb misunderstanding about her gender, and even though her view of God's omnibenevolence suggested that that was an absurdity, it was still enough of a looming possibility to concern her.

"Luna," Ginny had said, just before class started. "I have a very personal question to ask you, about something very secret. Can I trust you to keep it between us?" Luna had put a hand just in front of her mouth in a futile attempt to hide that she was smiling more widely than she normally was.

"Um, of course," said Luna. "What is it?"

"Okay, um," said Ginny. "When I got to Hogwarts, I discovered something very surprising and very distressing about myself. Basically, there was a mess with some wards, and then I learned from Madam Pomfrey that my soul says that I'm a boy." Luna had not looked confused at all; it would have been very odd if she had. "But I don't feel like a boy, and I never have. I'm not biologically a boy, or even ambiguous. So, to go forward, just, what am I?"

"Ginny, of course you're a girl," said Luna.

"But why?" said Ginny. "Are you sure?"

"No," said Luna. "You're sure. Because it's in your head. The mind's the final arbiter of this kind of thing, because the body can be changed with magic – especially now, with the Philosopher's Stone, come to think of it – and the soul contains – roughly half a page of text. That's all. It can be wrong." Ginny had frowned, because that was not her understanding of what a soul was at all. "And also, I like you, so I'm pretty sure you're a girl."

"Come again?" said Ginny, and there had been a long pause, as Luna had just been smiling, before a sudden realization. "Oh." Luna had nodded, and Ginny had realized that, given the vast gulf between their worldviews, Luna's opinion didn't mean much to her, except insofar as she was a friend.

The lesson today was of particular interest to Ginny. One of the spells being taught today was a castable form of the Remembrall's magic, which, upon being correctly cast, shot up a number of black sparks proportional to the number of things forgotten by the caster. Ginny consistently produced more sparks with the Charm than anyone else in the class, which at least vaguely concerned her. Luna, conversely, produced the fewest; each time she correctly cast the spell, only a single projectile emanated from her wand.

Ginny was thinking about the nature of Charms, and about her first day at Hogwarts – specifically, the moment when she had been knocked unconscious by some Parseltongue enchantment. She carefully thought about what she remembered of Professor Flitwick's description of the spell, and decided that, as a Parselmouth herself, and a future Charms Master, it was her responsibility to learn it, as she could make better use of it than nearly anyone. So she lingered after class.

"Professor Flitwick," said Ginny. "I'd like to ask a question. There's a spell I'd like to learn, but I want to know if it's feasible for me to learn it at my level, and as far as I know, you're the only one who knows it to teach it to me."

"What spell?" said the Professor.

"I don't know what it's called," said Ginny, "but it's the spell you described to me on the first day, that you used to drown out the secret message on the Sorting Hat – and, I'm assuming, that was used to put the secret message on the Sorting Hat in the first place."

"Hmm," said Professor Flitwick. "That _is_ a surprisingly easy Charm – I'd probably say second year, but you've shown surprising talent. I could easily teach it to you before my next class, but I want to get the approval of the Headmistress first; it wasn't a secret when I found it, just obscure, but that might have changed."

"Alright," said Ginny, and Professor Flitwick showed himself out of the room. Somewhere, Ginny heard the sound of a Patronus being cast. A slight delay, and several Patronuses later...

"Okay," said Professor Flitwick. "I've gotten permission to teach you this spell, but I want it to be very clear that you should inform me on a weekly basis of any novel uses of the spell that you invent. And I fully expect you to invent novel uses of the spell, because you're a Parselmouth, and therefore have access to much more of the spell's potential than I ever did."

"Understood," said Ginny. Professor Flitwick nodded, and displayed his wand; Ginny instinctively reached for her own.

"Now – first the wand movement," said Professor Flitwick. "The physical wand movement is very simple. The thoughts you must focus on simultaneously with the wand movement are more complicated, but still simple in their own way, but I'll get to them next. To cast this spell, you must trace an equilateral triangle in the air. The exact size of the triangle does not matter, as long as each side is equal in length. The bottom side of the triangle should parallel the horizon, assuming that you're standing upright, and the order of the sides should be left, bottom, right. So you start and end at the top point of the triangle." He demonstrated all of this in the air in front of him as he explained. "Is that all very clear?"

"Yes," said Ginny, and she mirrored Professor Flitwick's movements, though not reversed, until she had gotten it right.

"Now, then, for the thoughts," said Professor Flitwick. "While tracing the left side of the triangle, focus on where you want the 'node' generated by the spell to be. Whatever location you choose must be relative to an object. You could choose a portable object, like a ball or a stick, and therefore have a portable node. Or you could choose something fixed, like Hogwarts or the Earth itself, if you want the node to be fixed."

"While tracing the bottom side of the triangle," said Professor Flitwick, "focus on what conditions you want to activate the node. I don't know exactly how versatile this step is. The nodes seem to have some sensory mechanism that they're capable of examining; at least enough that 'the Sorting Hat says Slytherin' can be a condition. I was able to confirm that they don't have access to all human knowledge, only the sensory information immediately surrounding them. Like many idealistic fools, I am eagerly awaiting the invention of a Charm that accidentally grants its user effective omniscience or omnipotence, in the hopes of getting to it first, even though Magical Theorists say it's impossible. So of course I took the time to check if this spell was it."

"While tracing the right side of the triangle, focus on what you want the node to say when activated," said Professor Flitwick. "This is the feature of the Charm I am not able to make full use of, as the nodes only speak in Parseltongue, and you may not even correctly cast this step without being a Parselmouth yourself. I was able to find a workaround, as you know – sorry – but I was fully aware of the potential uses of the spell that I had no access to, which was disheartening. I envy the uses you are sure to find here." Ginny didn't know whether to seem proud or sorry.

"When you have completed the triangle, say the incantation – '_Sapespeck_' – and the Charm is complete," said Professor Flitwick. "Several interesting notes about the result – the resulting node is invisible to anyone except for the original caster, who sees it as a bright green dot suspended in space. The node does not consume any of the original caster's magic, or at least not a large enough portion of the original caster's magic that I was able to tell after creating a hundred of them. Judging by Slytherin's node on the Sorting Hat, it continues well after the original caster's death. And it's resistant to magic-canceling spells like '_Finite Incantatem'_, except, again, from the original caster. All-in-all, it's a very powerful, very versatile Charm. If its use weren't limited to Parseltongue, almost all of Hogwarts would know it."

"Now," said Professor Flitwick, "would you like to try? Affix a node to an object somewhere in this room, and give it a simple condition we can easily check."

"Alright," said Ginny. She was fairly certain she had understood everything Professor Flitwick had said – perhaps she had even understood some things he'd said that he hadn't understood himself. Swish-swish-swish. "_Sapespeck_." A green dot appeared above Professor Flitwick's desk. Ginny was impressed with herself; even she often took multiple times to get a Charm right, and those were first year Charms. Perhaps being a Parselmouth helped.

"Did it work?" asked Professor Flitwick. Ginny nodded, smiled, put her wand down, and clapped. A hollow voice said:

"_Ssalutationss, sschool._"

* * *

In her first day of usage, Ginny discovered a variety of nuances of the Sapespeck Charm that Professor Flitwick had not happened upon. If you cast the Charm not-quite-right, but close enough for it to tell that you'd tried to cast it, a voice would tell you, in Parseltongue, a rudimentary description of what you had done wrong. You couldn't create two nodes in the same place – if you tried, the Charm would tell you: "_You have made a misstake. Sspecks musst occupy different pointss in sspace._" You could create them so close together that the green dots that indicated them overlapped, though – in fact, you could even create them so close together that they might as well, for all practical purposes, have been in the same place.

The truth requirements of Parseltongue coming from Sapespeck nodes were slightly looser than the regular truth requirements. The caster needed to either believe that what they were saying was currently true, or that it would probably be true when the node was activated; either was sufficient. Ginny thoroughly tested this, and was able to produce nodes that said false things in Parseltongue – one node, for example, would, upon hearing a clap, say "_There iss a coin under me_," because it was true when the node was initially created, even though Ginny immediately removed the Knut after casting. If Ginny attempted to produce a node that was true in neither sense – neither when it was created nor in the probable event that it was activated – then she would receive only a "_You have made a misstake. Invalid ssnake wordss._"

The nodes were not much smarter than you would expect from a Charm. On one occasion, Ginny tried to make a node that would hiss words of encouragement at Slytherins when they passed, and she simply received a "_You have made a misstake. Invalid conditionss._" She was still able to achieve her goal, though, by changing her mental wording to "when you see robes with green trim". The only other notable limitation she encountered was that she could not affix nodes to her own wand – the response to that was "_You have made a misstake. Sspecks may only be removed by casster, and musst be able to be removed."_

Ginny had one idea that she was particularly excited to show Harry Potter. She barely completed it in time for their date.

* * *

"Harry, you have to look at this," said Ginny, and she held up a piece of paper.

"It's blank," said Harry.

"Yes," said Ginny. "But I've enchanted it. Say an addition problem."

"I thought we were here to discuss your Wizard Christianity," said Harry.

"We can get to that next," said Ginny. "I thought you'd think this was neat."

"Two plus four," said Harry, shrugging.

"_Ssixx_," said the paper, after a quick bout of inaudible hissing of code words.

"Impressive," said Harry.

"Do something harder," said Ginny.

"Two plus one half," said Harry.

"_Three_," said the paper.

"What?" said Ginny. "No, like-"

"Five plus six point four," said Harry.

"_Eleven_," said the paper.

"I plus I," said Harry. The paper didn't respond.

"Three plus three plus three," said Harry.

"_Sseven. Ssix,_" said the paper.

"No, I mean bigger numbers," said Ginny.

"Oh," said Harry, disappointed. "Five hundred and ninety three plus three hundred and ninety four."

"_Nine hundred and eighty sseven_," said the paper.

"Very impressive," said Harry, though that certainly wasn't what his face said. "How did you enchant this to speak in Parseltongue?"

"There's a Charm I could teach you," said Ginny. "Professor Flitwick taught it to me, although he couldn't make full use of it-"

"Because he's not a Parseltongue, of course," said Harry.

"Parselmouth," said Ginny.

"It's _that_ spell," said Harry. "Got it. So we were going to discuss Wizard Christianity, right? Have you ever heard of a place called the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yes," said Ginny.

"I've been there," said Harry. "I could arrange to take you there if you don't believe me, although I'd prefer not to; it's an awfully large hassle with a lot of paperwork involved, and it shouldn't be necessary, I mean, you trust me, right?"  
"Yes," said Ginny, though she was subconsciously beginning to have her doubts.

"In the Department of Mysteries, there's a room called the Time Room," said Harry. "Some relatively new and incredibly useful magics have been invented there. In the Time Room, there's a spatial-temporal anomaly called the Well of Time. The Well of Time is an apparently perfectly cylindrical pit, with a sort of spiral pattern on the walls. Every full rotation of the spiral – roughly every meter and a half – is equivalent to one year. Every year, the Well of Time grows one year deeper. It serves as a sort of time viewer – if you press your face up against the side, you receive a vision of something that's already happened; the only reason it can't be used as a spying device is because the visions can't be aimed in space – although they tend to be heavily clustered around the land surface of the Earth – but they can be aimed in time."

"I'm aware of the Well of Time, Harry," said Ginny, and she was smiling. She hadn't expected the conversation to start this way.

"And you're aware of its depth?" said Harry.

"At least a million years deep with no end in sight," said Ginny.

"Actually, the exact depth was recently calculated," said Harry, "because it was determined that the Well of Time is actually conic, allowing its exact size to be determined with very fine instruments. It's 4.57 billion years, exactly in line with the Muggle estimates of the age of the Earth." He stopped, and realized he had gotten sidetracked. "But what do you think the Well of Time is, Ginny?"

"Exactly what you think it is," said Ginny.

"Not a portal to Hell?" said Harry. He frowned.

"No," said Ginny, "not a portal to Hell. The Weasleys haven't been that deluded since Septimus two generations ago. The Earth isn't six thousand years old, Harry, and I'm completely aware of that. I'm aware of the Muggle evidence as well as the magical."

"And you are still a Wizard Christian?" said Harry. Ginny nodded. "Ugh. That kind of rationalization is common in the Muggle world, too."

"I think your mistake is probably that you're fighting the hypothesis that the Bible is the perfect word of God," said Ginny, "which, to be fair, is a hypothesis that a lot of people hold. But it's not a very strong hypothesis to attack. You can break a hypothesis like that by pointing out internal contradictions. Although, let's be honest, here; most people who believe in that hypothesis aren't going to be big on rationalism anyway."

"What do you believe?" said Harry. It was too early for an "and why do you believe it?".

"I believe that the Bible is a historical document," said Ginny, "no, actually, a collection of disparate historical documents, that records events that shine light on the existence and nature of God. Their reliability and value varies considerably; the earliest books are essentially tribal myths, though there might be some truth in them as well."

"So you consider the New Testament more relevant to your beliefs than the Old Testament, then?" said Harry.

"Yes," said Ginny, because it was true, although she hadn't explicitly said it yet, so she was a touch surprised.

"There's only one wizard or witch known to have returned from death without the use of inherently evil magic," said Harry. "And she currently attends this school."

"You are forgetting about Jesus Christ," said Ginny, "who is no ordinary wizard."

"Oh, was he a double witch, then?" said Harry.

"He is the Son of God," said Ginny.

"According to?" said Harry.

"The Bible! Himself! Prophecy!" said Ginny.

"Hmm, prophecy..." said Harry. "Unfortunately, I can't check whether it was delivered by a legitimate Seer; the Hall of Prophecy has been destroyed."

"This all happened long before-" started Ginny. "Wait, it has?"

"Never mind," said Harry. "Anyway, I have it on good authority that Hermione Granger was never truly medically dead; she was only dead in a limited, magical sense. You can't actually survive actual dying without extremely evil magic, which you need to arrange in advance of the death. It's impossible. I suppose you're going to say that's the point, and it's a miracle."

"It is indeed the point," said Ginny. "A major theme of what the Bible records is miracles."

"There's no such thing," said Harry. "Have you ever seen a miracle? Do you really believe that they happen, or do you only believe that you believe that they happen? Does this world look like a world that has miracles in it to you, or does it look like one that operates on consistent rules?"

"What's the Well of Time?" said Ginny. Harry considered the purpose of the question before deciding how to answer it.

"It's either a magical invention or a naturally occurring magical phenomena," said Harry. "I'm not sure which, although I suspect that all magic is constructed somehow or another, in the distant past." Ginny smiled.

"You referred to it as an anomaly, and that sounds about right to me," said Ginny. "Consider other possible terms for 'anomaly', though. A Muggle might just say 'magic', because they don't know that that's something normal and understood. Someone like me might call it a 'miracle'."

"Ginny, it's all magic," said Harry. "It's all understandable, the question is just whether or not we understand it already. This is the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not the Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles. There aren't any real miracles."

"Oh, well I'm glad we understand everything, then," said Ginny. "I guess the Department of Mysteries can just shut down, then. Since there isn't anything mysterious to study."

"Ginny, you can't put everything you don't understand yet in a box called 'God' or 'miracles' and call it a day," said Harry. "That's a God-of-the-gaps argument, and it should be clear why it's broken thinking."

"I'm not saying it's not understandable," said Ginny. "I'm saying that anomalies happen, and are important and interesting."

"Have you ever heard of theodicy, Ginny?" asked Harry. He had just researched the matter over the previous week.

"That's the set of omniscience, omnipotence, omnibenevolence, right?" said Ginny. "I've heard of it and believe in it, although omniscience is awfully redundant with omnipotence, isn't it? I think omnipresence would be a better third quality."

"No," said Harry. "Theodicy is the question of how, given omniscience, omnipotence, and omnibenevolence, how does suffering happen, particularly suffering that could widely be agreed on as unjust."

"Oh," said Ginny, "the problem of evil."

"Yes," said Harry. "How do you resolve theodicy, Ginny?"

"Well, first off, to truly prevent humans from being evil would strip them of all agency," said Ginny.

"The free will argument," said Harry. "Classic. But not all suffering even results from evil. That's why the problem of evil is really just a more mainstream form of theodicy."

"Well, secondly," said Ginny, "I don't believe that any suffering is of real significance, because an omnibenevolent God would permit us all to live forever." Harry was clearly restraining himself from something.

"Do you believe in Hell, Ginny?" asked Harry.

"Maybe?" said Ginny. "Probably not? My family told me about it as if it were real, but they didn't seem to really believe in it, as if they were quoting a fairy tale about Father Christmas at me. And my gut tells me that it contradicts omnibenevolence, hard, and omnibenevolence is a much more important belief."

"Oh, look at my wrist, I've got to go," said Harry, immediately rising and heading for the door. "There's an appointment I forgot."

The next Friday, Ginny learned that, "to shake things up", Blaise Zabini was the new Vice President of the More Sane Squad.


	17. Dark Triad

Ginny woke up on Saturday and immediately decided to speak with Tim. She put on her gloves – just to cover her bases, though at this point she figured she probably didn't need them – and summoned forth the diary from the box beneath her bed, and returned to her bed to write in it.

"Hello, Tim."

"You're up awfully early."

"I just got up. Most of Slytherin is up."

"I suppose I don't have a very good sense of time in this diary. Last time we spoke, you were very short."

"Yes, and I'm very sorry for that. In the wake of the attacks, the Headmistress told us to be very suspicious, and, I mean, Tim, I'm sorry, but you were already rather suspicious. One of the first things I learned about you was that your existence was against school rules."

"I understand completely; I was just about to write that."

"I suppose you want to know about what's going on out here."

"I rather do. If you would be so kind as to tell me. I can imagine a lot of the panic, but I'd still like to know."

"Well, the victim – it happened more than a week ago, now – was named Cedric Diggory. Fifth year Hufflepuff; he was well-liked and accomplished. He was found petrified under the giant threat message outside."

"Giant threat message? Was it written in the blood of someone's pet?"

"No. It was so big it'd have to be a pet giant if it was. It was some kind of highly advanced smoking Dark curse."

"Smoking Dark curse? Fiendfyre?"

"It wasn't anything anyone on-staff had heard of."

"That probably rules out Fiendfyre... I'll have to think about this, but nothing comes to mind from any of the curses I've ever seen Voldemort describe. How did the threat read?"

"THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS WILL BE OPENED. THE LINE OF MERLIN WILL BREAK. UNTIL IT DOES YOU ARE NOT SAFE."

"Whoever it is wants to end the Interdict? Fascinating. Voldemort never expressed the slightest interest in such a thing; when he opened the Chamber it was for the sake of blood purism, which is absolutely noxious, as I'm sure you know. I haven't even heard whispers about ending the Interdict since I was a little boy. Perhaps whoever is opening the Chamber now isn't Voldemort, after all. Shame that they killed a student."

"At least Cedric is at peace. I'm sure this will all be resolved." As Ginny wrote these words, she remembered an old Eastern Samothrace Orthodox legend claiming that the petrified could not pass on to Heaven, because their souls were also frozen. As with the similarly Heaven-denying superstition about Dementors, Ginny did not think very highly of this premise.

"How did the school respond?"

"They publicly stated that violence would never cause them to give into terrorists' demands. They canceled a few days' worth of classes to permit everyone to attend Cedric's funeral. They improved a handful of security measures."

"Did you attend?"

"Yes, absolutely. It was all very sad. I accidentally made a bit of a scene though when Draco decided to sit next to us and mother figured out what was going on between us and she kept her temper because it was a funeral but obviously she didn't approve and I think everyone saw."

"Oh, yes, Weasleys and Malfoys don't get along very well, generally speaking, do they? I hadn't even made that connection."

"Wait 'till she sees the Galleon marks when I marry him."

"You're eleven."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"and he's twelve. You're too different. I don't think it could work out."

"Oh, I think I really do like Draco, Tim. Maybe even more than I like Harry. I had an extended conversation with Harry a week ago, sort of a casual date, and he seemed rather disinterested; he left early for an appointment and I know he's very busy all the time but I don't think he really had an appointment. At first it lowered my opinion of myself, because I must be boring or something like that, but then I realized that he'd been very rude, and it lowered my opinion of him even more."

"How strange."

"I know, right? He seemed particularly turned off when I discussed religion, even though he talks about how great not being religious is all the time and he generally seems open to civil discussions of points he disagrees with, because 'that which can be destroyed by the truth should be' and all that."

"That's a beautiful quote. Where did you hear it?"

"Harry."

"Oh... You were trying to convert him, weren't you?"

"Maybe a little, but not much. I was mostly defending myself."

"People can tell when you're trying to convert them, and they absolutely hate it. Like cockroaches hate light."

"That's kind of a gross metaphor although I understand your point."

"By the way, if I were Draco, I wouldn't be very happy to hear that you had a date with Harry Potter."

"It wasn't really a date, you know, it was just a private discussion between friends."

"You described it as a date."

"Wishful thinking, you know?

"I am still not seeing any reasons for Draco to be unconcerned with this."

"Maybe you're right... Tim, do you think I'm really a boy?"

"What do you mean by 'really'? I think your soul registers as male so that you may fulfill prophecy. There is not necessarily any other reason for it."

"But what would God think? Will I be punished for liking Draco, or Harry?"

"Considering all the senses in which you are indisputably female, I hardly see why you would. You believe in the omnibenevolence of God, don't you?"

"Yes... I see your point...Luna says I'm a girl, anyway, but she's so weird that it honestly just made me consider the opposite more strongly."

"Luna's a good enough friend of yours that you would trust her with such a profound secret?"

"Yes. She's very strange, and maybe a little airheaded, but she's good at heart."

"Is there anything unusual about Luna?"

"She's a Seer, or at least she thinks she is. She's not very good at it, though."

"Fascinating. Good Seers can be an excellent resource for anyone, important or otherwise. A well-timed prophecy can change the entire course of your life. Have you heard any of her prophecies?"

"Yes, and her speculation about what they mean. Most of them seem like nonsense to me although I suppose that's just how prophecies are. She predicted I'd be Sorted into Slytherin, though, and no one was expecting that."

"They were all fools. You're an obvious Slytherin, and no prophecy is needed to determine that."

"We didn't figure out what it meant until afterwards, though... It might have also been about how I'm a Parselmouth, although she doesn't actually know I'm a Parselmouth as far as I know. Oh, and that reminds me; I learned a really interesting spell recently that none of the other first years know, it revolves around Parseltongue."

"You should tell me about it some time when we're possessed. I'm afraid the Interdict means that I wouldn't be able to retain the knowledge at the conclusion of the possession, but it should still be interesting. I should also like to meet your friend, Luna; she sounds like a fascinating character. Perhaps you could arrange for a conversation between the two of us sometime."

"Oh, I hardly know about that, Tim. She's very suspicious of unknown magic, she'd probably never agree to something like that. ...maybe, though. I really need to go, everyone's leaving for breakfast! It's been nice talking to you. Goodbye, Tim."

"Goodbye, Ginny." Ginny closed the book and returned it to its rightful place, and exited the Girls' Dormitory for the Slytherin Common Room. There, Colin sought Ginny out for once, instead of the other way around.

"Ginny" said Colin, rather loudly, and approached her. "I was trying to find you last night, but I couldn't."

"I'm sorry," said Ginny.

"I talked to Hermione yesterday, about Harry," said Colin. "Because I was having my suspicions, since Harry kicked you out of the Vice President position and all."

"He did?" said Ginny, and she frowned. "I'd forgotten. Is there a new Vice President?"

"Yes, Blaise Zabini," said Colin.

"He's definitely more qualified than me," said Ginny.

"Yes, sure," said Colin, "but I got the distinct feeling that his decision had more to do with you than Blaise. Like he was trying to get rid of you."

"Harry wouldn't do that," said Ginny. "That wouldn't be very rational." Unless, of course, he had to get rid of her because she was impeding rationality... Had Ginny's beliefs finally gotten her in trouble?

"Well, my hypothesis was that he was getting rid of you because Hermione was jealous and he wanted to make her happy," said Colin.

"_Hermione_ was jealous of _me_?" asked Ginny, in proud astonishment.

"No, that was just my hypothesis," said Colin. "So I decided to ask Hermione a probing question, I asked her why she wasn't in the More Sane Squad. And what she told me wasn't what I expected at all!"

"What did she say?" said Ginny.

"She said that she liked Harry and all, and respected him as a scientist and a rationalist," said Colin, "but she was staying clear of the More Sane Squad because it gave her a cult-ish feeling, and she was uncomfortable with Harry's relationship with it, and she didn't think Harry's ego needed any more boosting."

"That sounds in-line with your hypothesis," said Ginny.

"No!" said Colin. "I don't think she was being insincere at all! In fact, I think she might have been right!" Ginny stared at Colin as if he had just suggested that she were an Auror using the Polyjuice Potion.

"Colin, that's absurd," said Ginny. "Harry showed us what a cult looked like on his first day. The More Sane Squad isn't like that at all."

"Exactly!" said Colin. _"Harry_ showed us! What if he was lying to us to make us think everything was okay?"

"He was just exaggerating a bit, Colin," said Ginny. "It was a caricature but it was still a true image."

"True image or not, I'm resigning from the More Sane Squad," said Colin. "Before it goes even further off the rails."

"I hardly see why you'd abandon rationalism after seeing the truth in it," said Ginny, "but alright. Maybe I can be the new Club Secretary of State." Colin looked at Ginny like she was an idiot, and Ginny could barely even feel insulted, because she knew that she wasn't. Suddenly, a prefect ran onto the scene, and began shouting in panic at everyone; Ginny had no time to even react before the news was aired:

"Three more students have been killed! Three more students have been killed and they're not even canceling classes!"

* * *

Draco Malfoy had already gotten to the Great Hall and was already eating his breakfast when the news reached him. Headmistress McGonagall issued a much shorter message this time, with much less fanfare, but by that point, he had already sifted through the rumors to find the truth. Three young Hufflepuff boys had been petrified in the middle of the night, in their own beds, without even waking the rest of their dorm. At least one of them had foolishly decided to remove their goggles to sleep, and was therefore as unrecoverable as Cedric. At least one of them had done as they were told, and would be restored soon. There were whispers that, if the Heir of Slytherin had the power it seemed, he could have petrified the whole of Hufflepuff House ("and we'd all have been better off for it," said Peregrine Derrick, which earned him a hard elbow to the face) and had been merciful not to.

The central points of the Headmistress's speech were as follows: first, she confirmed that three students had been attacked, and elaborated that the first two, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie MacMillan, were gone, while the third, Zacharias Smith, would soon return to classes. Furthermore, she said, when Zacharias Smith was revived, within hours, he would be able to provide details surrounding the incident and his attacker, and so there was a good chance that the perpetrator would be caught immediately. Third, the funerals of Justin and Ernie would be held at Hogwarts over the weekend; no changes would be made to any schedules, as that would potentially aid the attacker in their goals. Fourth, and finally, she implored students to stay at Hogwarts, so that the perpetrator could be defeated, and to observe proper safety procedures at all times, including in bed, as the threat was serious, and that there must be no exceptions made or shortcuts taken. Everything seemed awful enough, and Draco sorely wished he still had Tim to talk to about this sort of thing, when the Howler arrived on the table in front of Neville Longbottom, and spoke up in a voice that many recognized as his grandmother:

"STUDENTS AND SO-CALLED PROFESSORS OF HOGWARTS! THREE OF MY GRANDSON'S CLASSMATES HAVE BEEN KILLED IN THEIR BEDS, MERE FEET AWAY FROM HIM! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE FROM THIS? WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING TO SAY TO REASSURE ME THAT EVERYTHING'S FINE? EVERYTHING IS NOT FINE. PEOPLE ARE DYING AND ALL THAT YOU CARE ABOUT IS MAKING A POINT TO SOMEONE WHO'S PROBABLY TOO PSYCHOTIC TO CARE! THIS IS NOT A NEW PROBLEM. LAST YEAR A STUDENT WAS VIOLENTLY ASSASSINATED BY MOUNTAIN TROLL. IS THE FACT THAT SHE MYSTERIOUSLY CAME BACK TO LIFE MONTHS LATER SUPPOSED TO BE REASSURING TO ME? AT THE TIME I ACCEPTED IT AS AN UNAVOIDABLE OUTLIER, BUT IT'S BECOME A PATTERN, NOW, AN ACCELERATING PATTERN. EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, I WILL BE WITHDRAWING MY GRANDSON, NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM, FROM HOGWARTS. UNLIKE THE PREVIOUS OCCASION ON WHICH I DID THIS, I AM NOT PLANNING TO SEND HIM BACK AT THE START OF THE NEXT TERM, OR AT THE START OF THE NEXT YEAR, OR WHEN THE PROBLEM IS APPARENTLY UNDER CONTROL, OR EVER. HE WILL LEARN FRENCH IN A HURRY AND TRANSFER TO BEAUXBATONS, A FRENCH SCHOOL THAT IS SLIGHTLY LESS PRESTIGIOUS THAN HOGWARTS BUT KNOWS HOW TO MAINTAIN A SAFE LEARNING ENVIRONMENT. I WILL BE MEETING WITH EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOUR PARENTS AND ADVISING THEM TO DO THE SAME. TO THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE FOR WHATEVER REASON WARDS OF HOGWARTS, I AM VERY SORRY. AND 'HEADMISTRESS' MCGONAGALL, I WANT YOU TO LISTEN TO ME:"

On orders from the Headmistress, Professor Lockhart had already seized the Howler and placed it in a pouc to silence it. Somehow, that quelled the panic instead of fanning it further.

* * *

Luna Lovegood was sitting in the Ravenclaw Girls' Dormitory when she was informed that Ginny Weasley wished to speak with her. She changed into her robes and went out to find her.

"Hey... Luna..." said Ginny, and Luna turned around to see that she was standing across a corridor.

"Ginny!" said Luna. "I heard you wanted to talk with me about something?"

"Yes..." said Ginny. "There's a magical artifact I own that I'd like you to check out."

"Is it a mystery?" said Luna.

"A bit..." said Ginny, and part of Luna's brain told her that this was a horrid, horrid idea, while another told her that disappointing Ginny would end all of time and space and love.

"What is it?" said Luna.

"It's a talking diary," said Ginny, and she pulled it out from her robes. "Well, writing, but it can still hold a conversation."

"A conversation in writing?" said Luna. "How delightfully whimsical. Is it as intelligent as a human?"

"Yes," said Ginny, and she looked as if she were maybe hiding something, but Luna ignored it.

"Then it's probably a horcrux," said Luna.

"Sure, Luna," said Ginny. "Could you just check it out for me? See if there's anything interesting about it I'm missing? I think you might be better at that kind of thing than me; you and your dad have a lot of experience with strange magical devices." Luna carefully maneuvered around the part of her brain that had constructed a roadblock labeled STOP NO DON'T THIS IS IDIOTIC DO YOU WANT TO END UP LIKE MUM.

"Of course," said Luna, and she took the book from Ginny's hands. "When do you want it back?"

"Oh, a day or two should be good," said Ginny.

"That might not be enough time to run a full investigation," said Luna, "but I'll try. Thank you for considering me for something like this."

"And thank you for helping," said Ginny, and she walked off giggling nervously.


	18. Mysteries, Part 1

_After a week-long intermission, the story resumes! The trigger warning at the beginning of chapter one has, on further consideration, been updated._

* * *

9.03 ATLANTIS

9.04 BUREAUCRACY

9.05 CHANCE

9.06 DEATH

9.00 EGRESS

9.07 FORCE

9.02 HUB

9.08 MINDS

9.09 OCEANS

9.10 PROPHECY (decommissioned, pending replacement)

9.11 LOVE

9.12 REALITY

9.13 SPACE

9.14 TIME

9.15 WORLDS

9.01 ZERO

* * *

Zacharias Smith was revived shortly after the attack. The good news was that no further students were petrified for the remainder of the term, or during the winter holidays. The bad news was that interviews with Zacharias revealed no new information that could lead to Cedric, Justin, and Ernie's killer being apprehended. The worse news was that, against the express wishes of the Hogwarts administration, rumors circulated that St. Mungo's had neglected to manufacture more than one Potion of Reanimation. They were very expensive to brew, which explained their being in short supply, but they were also very time-consuming to brew, which allowed even curable petrification to be a greater threat than it would be, had the healers bothered to keep a large reserve supply.

Just one day later, Luna Lovegood – who was wearing gloves herself, coated in Diricawl feathers – returned the diary to Ginevra Weasley, whilst smiling.

"So what have you figured out?" said Ginny.

"I owled it to my dad," said Luna. "And he sent it back with this letter, which explains what it is and how to take care of it. I'll give it to you so you can find out what it is and how to take care of it."

"Thank you," said Ginny, and she accepted the parchment, though of course she wouldn't read it. The Lovegoods were insane, especially in matters like this, and Xenophilius was the reason why.

"I'll just sum up the major points," said Luna. "It's called a horcrux; it contains a soul fragment of a human being and only a very advanced dark wizard can make one."

"Sure, Luna," said Ginny.

"It's very difficult to destroy," said Luna. "I included a list of things you can use to destroy it if the need arises, although I don't think you personally have access to any of them. Oh, and it can possess people. Normally a horcrux can possess people with impunity, as long as they touch it, but this one's been specially enchanted not to possess anyone who hasn't consented. Dad says he hasn't seen anything like it. Of course I haven't consented to be possessed, but I'm still wearing these gloves just to be safe." Ginny glanced at Luna's hands, saw no gloves, and took a step back. "That's why you're wearing gloves, too, right?"

"Uh huh," said Ginny.

"But you didn't consent to be possessed either," said Luna.

"What, no, what are you talking about?" said Ginny.

"Ginny Weasley, I swear to Wizard God if you wind up as some Dark Lord's possessed stooge because you signed your brain away like an idiot, I will hang you from the rafters," said Luna, and then she clapped her hands over her mouth. "I didn't mean – I'm sorry -"

"No, Luna, it's fine," said Ginny. "You're right to be concerned. This is serious business. But I haven't signed my life away. I know to be conscientious. You've helped me to see that more than anyone."

"Okay," said Luna; she particularly perked up at this last sentiment. "I just - I mean, I thought it was probably some kind of serious risk. He tried to get me to agree to possession, and I barely managed to distract him by talking about unimportant things like Divination and what a creep Lesath is."

"Alright," said Ginny. "I'll keep everything you've told me in mind. Goodbye!"

Ginny later found out from Tim that Luna had been particularly unhelpful, paranoid, and unpleasant to talk to, and was not a true Seer. Ginny felt sorry for Luna, but couldn't argue with any of Tim's points. She soon began making progress with her _Sapespeck_ computing, through a combination of Muggle maths textbooks, some programming help from Colin (who she still managed to keep out of the loop), and her own personal discovery of _Sapespeck Maxima_, a Charm that made editing large _Sapespeck_ systems easier.

By the time classes resumed in January, she had constructed a more advanced calculator capable of adding - as well as subtracting - any indefinitely long sequence of numbers. It could parse negative numbers as well as decimals; she had held off on supporting fractions until she had a better grasp on what division was, though she had added case-by-case patches for phrases like "and a half", "and a quarter", and so on, which were interpreted, for example, as "point five", "point two five", and so on. Coming down the pipeline, though, on a different sheet of paper, was limited support for multiplication. Ginny could feel the features creeping along like Eclipse Ivy, and she loved it. If she could make an inanimate object smarter than herself, then she would.

* * *

Just before the spring term began, a notice went out to all students that Professor Lockhart was running a Patronus workshop, targeted primarily at first years, but also accepting older students who had either failed or not attempted to cast a Patronus the previous year. Participating, however, required a parent's signature on a permission slip, as the workshop would be held in the Department of Mysteries. This was not difficult for Ginny to obtain.

"Frankly, it's safer than Hogwarts," said Arthur, as he signed. "I've been to the Department of Mysteries before; they were showing me Grabthar's Hammer in the Force Room. They thought they were on the verge of reverse-engineering it and they thought it might be possible to construct more of them without even using magic, so they were investigating the possibility that Muggles might figure it out. I think it's further off than they seemed to think – but anyway, my point is, you'll be herded around by Unspeakables at all time; you'll only go where you're supposed to. There are dangerous things in the Department of Mysteries, but you wouldn't be able to get anywhere near them even if you wanted to."

The fact that no students were petrified during the Christmas break seemed to Ginny to be weak evidence that the culprit was someone who, like her, had chosen to go home during the holidays. The administration did not even take it that way, though; it would be too easy for the attacker to put off their crimes a month to push investigations away from themselves. In any case, Ginny had more important things on her mind – how could she live with herself if she wound up with a standard old Patronus while Harry and Hermione remained the only two people in the world with upgraded human Patronuses?

"Well, Ginny, a Patronus is a journey of personal discovery and self-actualization," said Harry.

"Don't you give me that, Harry Potter," said Ginny. "That's not how you talk. You're hiding something. How do I get a human Patronus?"

"It's complicated and dangerous to teach," said Harry. "Even just giving you a bad hint could lead to your being permanently unable to cast any kind of Patronus."

"You taught her," said Ginny.

"I can't just teach anyone," said Harry. Ginny pouted, and Harry got the look on his face that he always did when he was beginning an experiment. "Well, though... I'll give you one hint. But don't be too disappointed if you wind up with a regular old animal Patronus. It's still better than nothing, if you wind up in a combat situation where a Patronus is needed or if you need to contact someone or confirm that they're alive. And don't tell anyone the hint, or even that I gave you one. I don't want to be mobbed by more requests like this."

"What's the hint?" said Ginny, although she would really rather be able to cast nothing at all than be able to cast an animal Patronus only. People who couldn't cast Patronuses were at least dark and deep and brooding.

"A regular animal Patronus is powered by a happy memory of the past," said Harry. "The True Patronus, the Patronus Two Point Oh, is powered by a happy plan for the future."

"Okay, got it," said Ginny, and she smiled. Harry seemed disappointed in her nonchalant approach to hearing this wisdom, and left.

* * *

Ginny sucked in her breath. She'd largely avoided Hermione, out of some kind of uncontrollable, irrational hatred. It was a source of some regret for her, and in retrospect had feelings had spiraled beyond anything reasonable, but nonetheless, she would definitely make an exception to her "steer-clear-of-Hermione" policy now. She had something practical to accomplish.

"Hi, Hermione," said Ginny.

"Ginny Weasley?" said Hermione. "Hello, I haven't seen much of you!"

"Is that so," muttered Ginny, and Hermione nearly left for the Ravenclaw table, because it wasn't completely clear that she still had something to say. "There's something Harry asked me to ask you."

"Oh?" said Hermione.

"I asked Harry how to make a Patronus like his, and he gave me – me exclusively, that is – a hint, and he told me to ask you for another one," said Ginny.

"Is that so?" said Hermione, and Ginny nodded. "Hmm... Dementors are a riddle, and the upgraded Patronus is the answer. Or is that the hint he already gave you?" Ginny nodded; if she was going to lie to get extra hints, she might as well get three instead of two. "Alright, then... Harry's Patronus was directly tied to my resurrection." Ginny was barely able to prevent her mouth from hanging open. "I hope that was helpful! Goodbye!"

How on Earth could Ginny even hope to compete with a girl Harry had literally brought back from the brink of death with a historic spell of his own invention?

"Wait! Hermione!" said Ginny.

"What?" said Hermione.

"What are your views on the existence of an afterlife?" asked Ginny.

"Of course not," said Hermione, immediately flustered. "I mean, you're not trying to weasel more hints out of me? Are you?"

"No," said Ginny. "I've just been thinking about it lately."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Harry told me about you. Between you and me, I think you can believe whatever you want, but, personally, I don't believe in that. For a brief while, my faith in that actually shot up after I, y'know, came back to life, but Harry broke the illusion for me. He had to. Visions that can be interpreted as an afterlife are reasonably common in people who have near-death experiences, but it's a purely neurochemical phenomenon, not supernatural at all."

"Oh," said Ginny. _A single sub-belief point of evidence for a deeply-held belief will not invalidate that belief if it is itself invalidated. Do not allow that fear to prevent you from updating your beliefs, or even allow it to make you more skeptical of facts that broadly suggest that your deeply-held beliefs are wrong._

"And anyway, no, that's not for me," said Hermione. "I haven't seen a good debate about it, ever, but I do know what my position is. I think Harry is being monstrously unfair to you, by the way; if you feel the same, then feel free to talk to me about it. Is there anything else you want to talk about now? I really do need to get to the Ravenclaw Table, or they'll wonder where I am and my food will get cold."

"Um, no," said Ginny. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," said Hermione, and she left. Ginny considered the fact that Hermione was not much like she had imagined her to be, but she did not reflect on it.

* * *

_The True Patronus is powered not by a memory but by a plan._

_ It is the answer to the riddle of the Dementor._

_ It pertains to resurrection._

Ginny repeated these three things in her head, over and over, for an entire day. She repeated them to herself as she slept, and she repeated them to herself as she stepped in a single file line consisting of most of her class and a few older students, through a fireplace, to the Ministry of Magic. Gilderoy Lockhart was waiting for her on the other side, and once his role call was complete, he guided his young students as a group through the main lobby, past a checkpoint, and to the Ministry's elevator, which had dozens of seats and moved forwards and backwards and left and right just as much as it moved up and down.

"LEVEL NINE, DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES," read a calm, cool, and distinctly unsettling voice, when they had reached their final destination. The only conclusion Ginny had thus far gathered from her hints was that Dementors were a manifestation of an abstract concept, and that the True Patronus was somehow powered by your approach to solving the non-magical form of that abstract concept. It was known to happen that magical creatures would originate as manifestations of abstract concepts; phoenixes, for example, were representations of a promise of eternity. For this reason, depictions of them were common decorations in churches and on wedding invitations.

"Hello, Lockhart," said one Unspeakable, who appeared to distinctly distrust the Defense Professor.

"Hello, Croaker," said Professor Lockhart.

"You're here for the Dementor exercise, correct?" said Unspeakable Croaker.

"Indeed," said Lockhart, and his smile just wouldn't stop.

"You have delivered the lecture on the properties of Dementors, and on how to produce a normal Patronus?" said Croaker.

"Of course," said Lockhart, and he nodded broadly.

"Follow me," said Croaker, to the entire group from Hogwarts, and he led them into the Department of Mysteries proper, which Ginny's father had described to her.

It was a large circular room, with eleven featureless doors, twelve if you counted the one the class had just walked through, evenly spaced around the room's circumference. Each of the doors had an Unspeakable standing in front of it, wand drawn; they took shifts so that each door was guarded at all times. It simply wouldn't do if someone could sneak in after hours. There was a large circle drawn on the floor, just short of the edge of the room.

"Is that Amortentia?" said a Gryffindor named Romilda Vane, and she pointed at a door that had a strong magical aura emanating from it.

"Yes," said Professor Lockhart, quietly. "An entire fountain of it." Romilda stood in awe. Something about the magical signature didn't seem right to Ginny. She supposed she didn't know how the magical signature compounded in such a large quantity. But come to think of it, how had they gotten such a large quantity? Amortentia took serious sacrifice to create; how many wizards had lost their magic and their wands to power the Love Room? The Love Room _was_ the one where they would keep Amortentia, right?

"We cannot confirm or deny that at this time," said the Unspeakable in front of the Love Room, who was wearing completely opaque black glasses.

"Everyone stand inside the red circle," said Unspeakable Croaker. "As close to the center of the room as possible." Ginny looked down, and saw that they were all well within it; Unspeakable Croaker closed the door to the outside world, and immediately, all of the Unspeakables in the room disappeared, along with the doors they were guarding. A few seconds later, they reappeared, but they were all scrambled; their positions and their order were completely different.

"Dementors this way," said one Unspeakable, who sent up sparks to attract the students' attention, and the door behind him opened a crack. The crowd made its way over to the Unspeakable, whose head was obscured by a cloud of smoke that didn't seem to leave his head, and stepped through the door into the Death Room.

"Jeepers!" said Colin, pointing at the enormous triangular stone structure at the bottom of the chamber's chasm. "Is that the Veil?" A black surface rippled and fluttered between the two lines.

"Yes, absolutely," said Professor Lockhart.

"We cannot confirm or deny that at this time," said the Unspeakable, and he guided them away from the chasm towards a more nondescript corridor, which was very long and was also made of stone, though it was less arcane than the Veil chamber. It led to a smaller, even less arcane room that had wood trim and pleasant lighting. There was a heavy stone door that the Unspeakable glanced at expectantly. "Behind this door is a pit containing all known Dementor specimens remaining after the purge of Azkaban."

"How do you keep Nundus from forming?" interrupted Colin, who was roundly shushed.

"There are not nearly enough Dementors present for the formation of a Nundu," said the Unspeakable. "And even if there were, we are not planning to perform an execution here any time soon, or ever. As I was saying, a pair of Unspeakables will escort a Dementor to this room momentarily, and you will take turns to face it one-on-one. Everyone who isn't currently facing the Dementor will wait in the hall."

"A Dementor's Kiss is required to initiate Nundu formation," explained Professor Lockhart, to Colin, during a lull. Soon thereafter, the room was evacuated of all except Karissa, who was going first. Ginny could feel the Dementor's presence, even though she was not looking at it. It was a distinctly wrong feeling, exactly what she expected, but real. It told her intuitively to flee better than any Boggart could, but she knew she would face it and overcome it. What could it possibly represent? Soon Ginny heard Karissa shout something, and there was a glow opposite the Dementor's, and Karissa returned triumphant.

Some weren't so lucky. The group was about evenly split between those able and those unable to produce Patronuses, though it was invariably found that those who had tried and failed last year failed just as hard now. Among those who were carried out of the room unconscious was Colin; this was not a surprise for Ginny, who hadn't really thought him the type in the first place. And absolutely no one produced a Patronus with the brilliant glow or perfect form of Harry's (or Hermione's).

"It's your turn, Miss Weasley," said Professor Lockhart. "Good luck." Ginny stepped forward, having suppressed as many of her nerves as she could.

_Well, it's obvious what you are,_ thought Ginny, as the cloaked figure appeared before her. _You're Evil. Capital-E Evil. That's what you personify. You exist to cause negative utility, you're not supposed to exist, and you even look more demonic than any other magical creature I've seen. It's not that hard to figure out. So, then, how do I solve you? Or, rather, how would Harry solve you? How would Harry solve evil?_

_ No, no,_ thought Ginny. _That's the wrong way to think about it altogether. You can't make a Patronus using Occlumency. The Defense Professor said so. How would _I _solve evil? What's _my _plan to deal with it? What does my worldview say?_ The symptoms of Dementor exposure were already sinking in. It was becoming a little harder to think, though Ginny was pushing through.

_God has already dealt with you,_ thought Ginny. _Your game is up. Your price was paid in full on the cross, and any suffering you cause can therefore only be temporary. The idea that you are still an existential threat to anyone is an illusion, and I see through that illusion. (Is something wrong? This isn't how Harry would think about this. No, push on.) I know the truth._

_ I believe that the Lord God created the universe, _thought Ginny. _I believe that He sent His only son to die for my sins. I believe that the line of Christ contains all wizardkind! You have no place here!_

"_Expecto Patronum_!" shouted Ginny, as loudly as her lungs could currently provide. Her wand had been correctly raised, but nothing came out. She glanced diagonally downwards, otherwise frozen, expecting reality to correct itself.

_What?_ thought Ginny. _No, try again. I believe that Satan has a hold on you! I believe that the Lord God has sent me here! I believe-_

Ginny finally fainted.

* * *

_We didn't agree to this! We didn't agree to this! But I _did... _Oh God, I'm a murderer. Save me. Kill me. I need to be killed, I mustn't threaten anyone... They're dead... It's my fault... I trusted you. I'm going to wind up not remembering any of this, and I won't be able to protect anyone from myself then. Or you. The Chamber's going to keep opening, and opening, and opening, and we're going to keep killing, and killing, and killing... I did kill Cedric, after all, and now how many of his friends? You lied to me and I should have seen through it. But how, in Parseltongue - here he comes. Is Obliviation like dying?_

* * *

The baby looked up at its towering parents and the healer, and they had a strange conversation using strange words that it could not understand, but could remember, somewhere in the deep recesses of its infant brain, where only the memory magic of a conceptual being could recover it, and even then, only for the purposes of torture.

"I can offer a mass Obliviation-" said the healer.

"I want my son back," said Arthur.

"Any kind of human Transfiguration is very dangerous," said the healer. "We're already very lucky that _she's_ stabilized." Arthur made a reflexive stabbing motion that he'd picked up watching Muggle criminals who had to rely on Muggle weapons. "It would be risking the child's life all over again."

"And it's not risking the child's life to leave him like this?" said Molly, through her tears.

"No," said the healer. "Particularly given the function of eagle's splendor."

"What does eagle's splendor have to do with this?" said Molly, exactly simultaneously with her husband's similar utterance: "Who said anything about a potion of eagle's splendor?"

"Healers know things, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," said the healer, "even if we are legally prevented from disclosing them. In most cases, at least; an exception might be made here seeing as a child was endangered. But the significance of eagle's splendor's function is that it causes the body's appearance to match the mind's ideal."

"Enough!" said Arthur. "If you can't reverse the effect, what can you do?"

"As I was saying, I can offer a mass Obliviation applied to all friends and family, everyone who'd know, so that they're unaware that your _daughter _was ever any different," said the healer.

"My _daughter_ is the third seventh son," said Molly, and she practically spit. There was a pause.

"I'm sorry," said the healer. The baby looked up at its mother, who was the most upset it had ever seen her. Its mother looked back, but this did nothing to alleviate her distress; in fact, she had a look of disgust about her.

_What's wrong, Mother? Why don't you recognize me? Why don't you recognize me? Why don't-_


	19. Mysteries, Part 2

Ginny's eyes drifted open. She stretched out on the small bed she had been laid on, and looked around. The room suddenly got quieter than it had been – upon seeing her waking, Professor Lockhart had stopped talking, in case she wanted to go back to sleep. But she did not.

"It didn't work?" said Ginny.

"I'm afraid not, Miss Weasley," said Professor Lockhart. Ginny could only sigh. She had been trying something inordinately more difficult than everyone else had. If she'd merely tried to cast an animal Patronus, she thought, surely she would have been able.

"Can I try again?" said Ginny, although she was already being torn apart by doubts. There was no point in trying again if she didn't even know what she had done wrong.

"Yes," said Professor Lockhart. "In fact, I booked the group for several hours, specifically so that students could try on multiple occasions. You can probably even try a third time, although I don't recommend it."

"Alright," said Ginny. "Can I take some time to think, before-"

"Yes," said Professor Lockhart. "In fact, you should. I've taken the liberty of Obliviating you of the nastier effects of critical Dementor exposure. They're known to impede Patronus formation at times on second encounters, as they continue to weigh your emotional state down. Personally, I think Obliviation should be applied more often as a Dementor cure..."

"Okay," said Ginny. "Just let me think..." She certainly felt awful, although she could only remember part of the reason why. Why hadn't her Patronus worked? Had she had the wrong thought? Or had she not truly believed it? Or could it have been both?

"Tell me whenever you want to go back and face it again," said Professor Lockhart. "And for your information, Harry Potter didn't cast his Patronus on his first attempt, either. Eat this." He handed Ginny some chocolate, which she slowly began to eat, and he went to sit elsewhere.

Harry Potter... that was just the problem. Ginny had been so focused on the fact that you couldn't cast a Patronus by putting yourself into someone else's shoes that it hadn't occurred to her that her own beliefs might simply be wrong, or at least unfit for casting Harry's advanced Patronus. There were only two people who could cast it, and both of them had theological views particularly distant from Ginny's own. Perhaps it was just coincidence – or perhaps it was evidence that Ginny was simply being particularly stubborn about something that, deep down, she knew was wrong.

But Ginny looked deep within herself, and could not find any component of her brain that would admit to wrongdoing. Even as her Internal Harry told her that she was only believed in her belief and she was killing valuable brain cells with every second she kept up the charade, she didn't come to any sort of epiphany that she had been acting all along, and hadn't really believed it.

What she could come up with were good counterarguments against what she believed; counterarguments that she had always brushed off, often with circular logic, come to think of it. Perhaps her knowledge of those counterarguments undermined her faith, making her beliefs weaker and preventing them from being legitimate for purposes of the Patronus. She briefly considered asking the Defense Professor to Obliviate her of the arguments, before realizing what an idiotic premise that was. Literally the opposite of rationality. That which can be destroyed by the truth should be.

Even if Ginny's beliefs were true, she had been drawing off of her belief in her belief, not the root belief. So what if all of this indicated that Ginny's worldview was wrong and she would need a new one to cast a real Patronus? That simply wouldn't do. You can't build a strong worldview for yourself in a matter of hours. Still, if Ginny's old worldview was wrong, it wouldn't work for Patronus purposes, particularly if she knew it. She was just about ready to curl up into a ball and die, but she didn't want to. She wanted to cast a Patronus and be done with it. How do you rebuild all of philosophy from nothing; how do you build your worldview out of basic principles that aren't in dispute? Once again, Ginny was concerned that it might take more than a few hours.

Ginny ran through the counterarguments in her head. Why her sect over all others? The obvious answers all relied on circular reasoning. Why believe in an afterlife, when all magical evidence for one was so questionable? The idea that her relevant beliefs were founded by a need for comfort in the face of inevitable, real death gnawed at Ginny. A closely related idea that momentarily comforted Ginny was that an afterlife must exist, owing to the omnibenevolence of God, but then Ginny finally asked herself: why believe in God? She'd never really thought about it. She'd never really doubted it, true, but she'd never really thought about it, either. Pascal's Wager only "proved" the existence of a class of non-omnibenevolent "god" that Ginny didn't believe in, and its status as blackmail sent it to the rejection heap of her brain; Pascal's Wager hadn't been a convincing argument for her since she was very young. As long as she could remember, Ginny had simply felt the existence of God like the existence of gravity or the existence of magic, and so it had never occurred to her to question it, even as some people around her didn't seem to feel the same thing. But gravity and magic were objectively provable through scientific analysis; God was not, and all of the first arguments Ginny could think of for His existence were circular. Ginny was in a new circle of a Hell she did not believe in, the Circle of Reasoning, where everything was confirmed by everything else but there was no base truth confirming anything.

Why believe in souls? It was intuitively obvious to Ginny, _cogito ergo sum_, that she existed, and furthermore, it was obvious to her that her own existence was evidence that the universe existed. It was also obvious to Ginny, conversely, that in physical reality, there was a spectrum of intelligence dictated by cognition structure; the mere differences in behavior between lower animals and humans suggested this, and the existence of brain damage confirmed it. Ginny had had personal experience with this, when she realized that by expanding her Parseltongue computer's complexity sufficiently, she could build a device with no intelligence, or she could build a device more intelligent than she was – or anything in-between. The brain is just a particularly efficient electrochemical computer, after all. And yet, despite the spectrum of intelligence dictated by physical reality, there could be no spectrum of _cogito ergo sum_. A mind was either a proof of the universe's existence or it wasn't; it was either a real viewpoint with agency or it wasn't. And so there had to be some invisible, intangible marker, a soul, distinguishing real beings, just as there had to be aether to clarify the true position of space itself. Rationalism could take many things away from Ginny, but her logical proof of souls had been formed so long ago, and so solidly, that it was not going anywhere.

The existence of souls certainly suggested the existence of God: who, exactly, decides what gets a soul and what doesn't? There had to be some intelligent force behind it. Or maybe there didn't. Perhaps Ginny was the only being in the world with a soul – she couldn't confirm the existence of anyone else's, only her own. Or perhaps souls were everywhere, just floating around, and some attached themselves to rocks and plants and stars. No, the existence of souls did not truly imply the existence of God as far as Ginny could tell. She was simply trying desperately to reassemble a shattered vase before her mother found her.

Some time after Ginny had stopped shaking and sweating, she let her mind wander, in the hope that the dreaming part of her mind would come up with something more useful than the waking part. Her mind went first to Harry, and then to Hermione, and then back to Harry, and then to Voldemort, and then back to Harry, and then to Draco, and then to Tim, and then to vague suspicion, and then back to Draco again, and then to Luna, and then to Nargles, and then to time, and then to the Well of Time, and then to church and then back to Luna, and then to Luna's father, and then to Luna's house, and then to Luna asleep, and then to Luna at the train station, and then-

"Professor Lockhart?" said Ginny. "I'd like to see the Dementor again soon."

"Alright," said the Professor. "Get your wand and follow me back to the Death Room at your own pace." Wait, Death Room? Had Dementors been Death instead of Evil this entire time? The Veil nearby should have made it very obvious, and Ginny now felt rather stupid, but no, the train of thought had to keep going.

Luna had once told Ginny of a magical mirror capable of creating universes. Whether or not the mirror existed as she described it was immaterial. It was clear that such a device was within the capabilities of wizards – in fact, it was within the capabilities of Muggles; a sufficiently powerful computer should be capable of simulating a universe, as universes, in Ginny's experience, operated on mathematically precise laws. And a simulation was the same as the real thing, from the perspective of the mind living in it.

"By the power of Bayes," whispered Ginny, and she grasped her wand off of the bedside cabinet, and held it in her hand. Given an infinite number of universes anything like Ginny's own – that is, containing intelligences capable of constructing computers – the infinity of universes that came from nowhere was infinitely smaller than the infinity of universes that had been created by a different, similar universe. So there was at least rationalist evidence to reject the null hypothesis of atheism, in favor of at least deism. That was certainly a breakthrough.

There was absolutely no reason for a universe-creator not to grant themselves omnipotence and omniscience; to prove omnibenevolence, though, she would need to psychoanalyze the creator of the universe, a task that proved daunting. Psychoanalyzing the creator of the universe would also help to reject the null hypothesis of deism. Was he a non-interventionist sort of God, or was He an interventionist sort of God? Well... yes and no. Interventions, miracles, did not happen often; the universe had existed for billions of years, and the universe didn't look like one that had been covered in miracles for billions of years. Many of the major points of life that were explainable once as miracles were now explainable by other means – life occurred on Earth through natural processes and chance; this also explained the eventual evolution of intelligence. Religions could and often did arise from memetic processes, and the miracles used to found them could be forged, particularly with magic (but where did magic come from, if not from God?), and one would therefore expect to see religions even in a world where all of them were false.

But that didn't imply that any given religion was necessarily false, either – between the extreme cases of "non-interventionist God who leaves no deliberate sign of his existence in his creation" and "interventionist God whose existence is made explicitly clear to every being within His creation" was an intermediate case, like the liquid phase between solids and gases – a semi-interventionist God, who left only debatable signs at critical developmental points, to produce a diversity of beings with different pictures of their root cause, varying in accuracy. If Ginny entertained the notion of this semi-interventionist God, then it was reasonably likely that He had a hand in Christianity – the incomplete version of it, after all, was the dominant religion amongst the dominant Muggles, and for a long time the true version was dominant amongst wizards. It was far from a certainty, though – and Ginny hadn't actually found any reason to reject the null hypothesis of deism – or, more importantly, to believe in omnibenevolence, which was the foundation of so many other beliefs, most notably the belief in an afterlife.

"You're very brave to try again," said Professor Lockhart. "A lot like your mother; she's a very brave woman." The Defense Professor smiled, and Ginny tried to reciprocate, but it was more of a gulp. They were walking through the stone hall back to the room in which Dementors were fought, and now Ginny knew that she was facing Death. She briefly thought that she should have put the confrontation off more, but she brushed that thought off; it was time.

_Hello, Death_, thought Ginny. _I'm Ginny Weasley. I exist, and you don't._ The Dementor wasn't actually there, yet, but she might as well begin to form her Patronus thought now. _Cogito ergo sum. Why doesn't death exist, you might ask, indignantly pointing at yourself. People die all the time; surely that proves that I, Death, am real? But for Death to be a true horror, it must be the end of the self. Is it? We don't know! That's why you're in the Department of Mysteries, because we don't actually collectively know what you are! It's beyond ordinary study! For all of history, you've been a land that everyone enters into, and from which none return. But does that mean that you're empty? Age, too, fits your description. But we can contact the aged..._

_ Who or what created our world is also a mystery, _thought Ginny. _If they don't study that here, they should. I believe I have a pretty good idea of Who created our world, but that doesn't even matter, here. Because by the same proof that we were probably created – the probability approaches one, that is – our creator was probably created. And His creator, and His, and so on. We are living in some indefinite layer of recursion. If an omnibenevolent entity exists anywhere in a tree of universes – and surely there does exist such an entity, because there is rightness in reality, and omnibenevolence is _right –_ then surely it's Their responsibility to end true death everywhere on that tree of universes. To back up beings' mind-states, with something that could be called a soul, and keep them running in perpetuity past what the cold, non-altruistic mathematically precise universes would do._

_ A set of additional physical laws for the universe on top of the regularly activated ones? _thought Ginny. _Hmm, doesn't that sound like... magic? It appears that we've already been touched by omnibenevolence. But in the strange event that we haven't, that we are the first omnibenevolence to form on our tree of universes, it's our responsibility to make it ourselves, and seeing as you, Death, are a mystery, I'd say that we should do our best not to take chances. Add another layer of security._

"Ginevra Weasley, are you ready?" asked an Unspeakable. Ginny nodded with confidence, and finished her thought:

_If there is the slightest reasonable chance that death is the true end of the soul, it's our responsibility to prevent and even end death. Pascal's Wager Maxima. _The Dementor finally arrived, and someone muttered "about time".

_I am Ginny Weasley, daughter of Arthur. I am the third seventh son. I am the child of God and man, of Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene, of a soul and a brain, of evolution and creation, of science and religion, of Muggle techniques and magical ones, of faith and reason, of knowledge and mystery. I am the one who I know thinks, and therefore I am the one who I know exists. I am destined for great things, but first, you must be resolved. I believe you've already been defeated, but... if not..._

"_Expecto Patronum!_" shouted Ginny, with all of the conviction of the people she had occasionally seen getting overly excited in church.

_Then you're about to be,_ thought Ginny, as the silver-white mist began to form at the tip of her wand. A burst of brilliant light, and countless forms began to appear in the mist, all animals, each blinking by too fast to clearly see, gradually increasing in average size. The Dementor was confused, and Ginny didn't quite know what was going on either, but she liked it. Finally, a single form settled in, a tall biped, and the others disappeared. Ginny looked at it closely, and was immediately disappointed, despite the brilliance of the light.

_Aw, it's an ape? _thought Ginny. _So close and yet so far. ...or is it?_ It didn't look very much like a human; it was far too hairy and the face was all wrong. But it looked too much like a human to comfortably call it an animal, and soon... it picked up a rock, which shone nearly as brightly as it did, and threw it.

The Dementor fainted, and had to be revived later by the Unspeakables using black licorice.


	20. Involuntary Cryopreservation

At first, Ginny was completely content – bursting with pride, even – to keep her Patronus a secret. The Unspeakables had told her it was a powerful asset – there were whispers about Nundus – and that she shouldn't tell anyone, not even her parents, not even her best friends. They even lied to the Defense Professor's face, and said that she had made a good attempt, but ultimately could not cast a Patronus and knew it. Ginny loved the feeling that she was important and special, that she had a secret worth keeping from absolutely everyone until the time was just right.

But now it was draining Ginny's patience, to sit quiet in Harry's presence. It was absolute torture to remain a gradually less-and-less-heard voice in the More Sane Squad – a group she had originally organized, before the second meeting, where Harry stepped in – knowing all the while that she had something important to say, a complex series of thoughts that might reestablish her worthiness of Harry Potter's company, that she had to keep to herself for the greater good. Every time Harry made some snide reference to theism or religion and glanced at Ginny, she wanted to snap "say, have you seen this neat spell I invented in the Department of Mysteries?", but of course she didn't. She wasn't _that _bad at keeping secrets. She only practiced it when she was very alone, and she didn't tell anyone about it, not even Tim, and she usually told Tim everything. The worst of it was the time Harry had made everyone sit through a Pensieve memory of a dreadfully-written-and-performed play depicting the possible origins of Christianity in a scam designed to cover up an illegitimate pregnancy. She had been quite tempted to cast her Patronus that time, and to explain at length how it functioned. But she just took a deep breath, swore to herself to do something constructive later, and smiled, as she had been trained to long ago.

On this particular day, the More Sane Squad was holding a quiet individual study session, as their group discussion had covered all the main points and ended substantially early. Ginny had cast a _Quietus_ around herself and was practicing out of "70,007 Tongue-And-Wrist-Twisters For Optimizing Wizards And Ambitious Witches", an enormous set of practice exercises intended to improve spellcasting ability, to aid in rapid-fire Charming. She had convinced Professor Flitwick to get it out of the Restricted Section for her by describing, in vague terms, her calculator; he had obliged but suggested that if she wanted to learn about division, she should ask Professor Vector.

Harry set down his own book – and Ginny noticed that she recognized the cover; it was a fantasy novel called "Mathematically Precise Daemons and their Behavior", penned by one Arcturus Pullman. When she had been much younger, she had spotted Fred and George reading it, and she asked her mother if she could too. Mrs. Weasley, of course, threw a fit and confiscated the novel, and directed Ginny to read something called "Cubs, Devils, and Artifacts" instead. Back in the present, Harry approached Ginny, as she'd wanted him to several months ago, but somehow it didn't seem as satisfying now as it would have then.

"Ginny?" asked Harry. "Could we talk about something for a moment?"

"Sure," said Ginny. "What is it?" He didn't sound like he was on the attack...

"It's about Colin," said Harry. "Do you still talk to him?"

"Oh, sure," said Ginny. "We've drifted apart a little... But we still talk."

"Great," said Harry. "Is he coming back to our meetings?"

"Um, no," said Ginny. "He said he'd decided the whole thing seemed cultish. He seemed quite emotional about it." Harry frowned.

"He did realize that was just a joke, right?" said Harry.

"Yes," said Ginny. "But that was still the conclusion he came to."

"And he didn't even issue a letter of resignation?" said Harry. "How inconsiderate. I don't suppose you'd like to be the new Secretary of State?"

"As a matter of fact..." said Ginny.

"I'll consider your application," said Harry, and Ginny's heart melted. "Oh, and your other friend... Luna, is it?"

"One of my other friends, yes," said Ginny.

"She wouldn't happen to be interested in joining, would she?" said Harry. "People say she's batty but I'm not one to put too much stock in reputations."

"She actually did sit in on one meeting," said Ginny. "It really wasn't her thing; it never was. Shame, too. She's sweet. A bit Dark, though. She gave me some fortune-telling cookies the other day, and I opened mine and it had a little strip of paper in it that said 'you will regret reading this', and she said that it must have been overcooked. What do you suppose that's supposed to mean?"

"I have no idea," said Harry. "Fascinating." He nodded and left, and Ginny had a feeling that that meant that she'd said something rather boring, and she tried to get back to her exercises, but couldn't, with her focus uprooted. So she got up and found another group of students who didn't seem to be working, either, a group of students led by Cho Chang, who had returned to Hogwarts for the new term after her two-month hiatus-of-grief.

"Hello, Cho," said Ginny. "It really is nice to see you."

"Ginny!" said Cho, and she immediately invited Ginny into an awkward, though understandable, hug. "You came in late, so let me get you caught up really fast. So, I get back from home with no idea what I'm going to do, and Professor Lockhart invites me on a quest! A quest! To avenge Cedric's killer, no less, so of course I had to go on it. We went out into the Forbidden Forest, where the Acromantula that was framed for Myrtle's death in the 40s is kept, because, you see, magical spiders and magical snakes absolutely hate each other, so we thought maybe we could recruit it to fight Slytherin's Monster, since it must doubly hate it because of its history. But the Acromantula – it was named Aragog – refused to help us, because it didn't see itself as having a dog in the fight, and as it saw it it could only suffer from getting itself involved. And then – get this – it turns out that the reason Acromantulas are considered barely sapient is because they have an uncontrollable bloodlust, so we barely got out alive! Gilderoy had to stun and even kill some of Aragog's spawn! So of course we can't go back _there _again."

"Sounds exciting," said Ginny, and she smiled to show that she meant it.

"I think he might be my Wise Old Wizard, Ginny!" said Cho. "And I think avenging Cedric might be my true calling that gives me my heroic strength."

"Do you want to know what I think?" said Ginny.

"Of course I do!" said Cho. "Otherwise why would I be telling all of you?"

"I think the Defense Professor is rather suspicious," said Ginny, and Cho nodded, but her spirit seemed to sink a bit. "Of course, it's just a vague feeling, and vague feelings can go either way. Everyone thought last year's Defense Professor was suspicious, too, and just look at how that turned out! He was all good. So, I guess what I'm saying is, have fun and do good!"

"Thank you, Ginny," said Cho. "I heard you all went to the Department of Mysteries a while ago for Patronus lessons; how did that go?"

"Well, it's very confidential," said Ginny. "You know what they say, what happens in the Department of Mysteries stays in the Department of Mysteries."

"She couldn't cast one," whispered Sheila Carrow, and Parvati shushed her.

* * *

"Slytherins aren't safe" were the words most commonly repeated after Colin was found petrified, in a small deserted side-dungeon in the Slytherin dorms. "Oh God, what did they do to him," however, were the first, and this was almost certainly because only his upper half was petrified – the cutoff was somewhere beneath his armpits – and the rest of him was simply gone. What remained in stone was soaking in a pool of blood, which had been used to paint a message: "REANIMATE THIS".

Ginny was the first person to come across the scene, and her screaming quickly alerted the entire House to the horror and attracted the attention of the Headmistress, who was similarly disturbed, but quickly and calmly pointed out that all nonfatal injuries could be healed with the Philosopher's Stone, and, however severe, Mr. Creevey's injury must not have been fatal, seeing as he was petrified. His goggles were attached, as they were supposed to be, and were fogged up in the manner typical of glass usable in reversing Petrification.

"Whoever did this did not properly account for the Philosopher's Stone," said the Headmistress. "We may at least count our blessings that our enemy is not smart. _Scourgify._" The message written with Colin's fluids washed up and away.

"Or just not up to date," whispered Tracey. Draco huddled in close to Ginny; both were appalled but Draco of course understood that it meant even more to Ginny, who knew Colin more closely.

"To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Creevey will be perfectly fine," said the Headmistress, and she distinctly looked as if she were trying too hard to project an image that no one was at any serious risk. "Because of the current state of the Potions of Reanimation, he will miss a few weeks of class, but no more. Please evacuate the room immediately; Rubeus Hagrid will be here post haste to move Colin to a secure location." Nobody seemed quite satisfied with this, but they obeyed.

"Slytherins aren't safe," said Ginny, and, on an unspoken agreement, followed him towards his room.

"No," said Draco. "But we are. I will protect you, Ginevra. I will get into a fist-fight with a Basilisk if that's what it takes to keep you around."

"Draco," said Ginny, "you're acting completely ridiculous. You're perfectly fulfilling the role of the guy who's going to get a noble, but stupid, death at the hands of the monster – or petrification, if this is a children's story. Also, it's pedantic, but Basilisks don't even have any fists."

"Real life doesn't work like a play, Ginny," said Draco. "Narrative patterns don't reflect reality, they reflect narrative patterns. What do they even teach you in the More Sane Squad?" Ginny tilted her head and thought about this.

"Alright, fair point," said Ginny. Draco was suddenly very creepy for no particular reason, but it was quite romantic. The opposite of Lesath. "I don't see why you're so confident, though. Until they actually figure out what's going on and stop whoever's doing it, no one's really safe. How can you protect against something when you have that little knowledge of how it operates? It's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands."

"I can just feel, I feel very certain," said Draco, "that I can protect you. I don't know why. But I do know this. If I found a scroll that told me I could bring Father back to life, and all I had to do was stand passive while the Basilisk ate you, I'd burn the scroll, save you, and spit on his grave."

"What a terrible thing to say," said Ginny, with an ironic intonation. She felt her arms snaking towards his, and she felt like a third or fourth year. "You're nuts, you're crazier than Luna."

"Maybe I am," said Draco. "Our love is God. Let's go get a Butterbeer."

* * *

"Hello, Tim. How have you been? Another student was attacked today, and it's someone I care about."

"It was Malfoy, then? That's terrible. Only petrified, right?"

"No, Creevey. And yes, only petrified. It's still awful. Really morbid; the Heir petrified him after cutting half of him off. He'll be okay, though, because of the Philosopher's Stone."

"Awful. The Heir must be a very sick man."

"Draco's quite well. I think I'm"

"As for how I've been, I've been how I always am. A mutilated human soul trapped in a diary."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. It was very rude of me to interrupt you. Go on about Draco?"

"I think I'm going to marry him. Sometimes it seems like he's the only thing in the world that isn't wrong and broken."

"I'd object WHAT ABOUT ME but I'm as wrong and broken as they come."

"It's not your fault, Tim. Voldemort hurt you; he's the reason you're suffering. And I'm sure he's doing this somehow."

"No, not Voldemort. He could be cunning, but this isn't like him at all. He was an awful Occlumens; he simply was not one to wear many faces on many occasions."

"Maybe solving the mystery of the Chamber attacks will put you at peace."

"Maybe. Tell me more about Draco."

"He's much nicer to be around than Harry. He's dark and brooding like an anti-hero, and in a cute way. I clearly mean so much to him, which is nice since he means so much to me, and those two facts feed each other. It's a virtuous cycle."

"Romance is so stupid and yet so life-defining. I miss it. I miss being human, being in a human body. Take the gloves off, Ginny."

"What? Why?"

"Every time I've possessed you, it's been so exhilarating – to escape from this prison. To breathe and feel."

"Tim, I couldn't possibly understand your perspective, but it makes sense that this would be so important to you. But you have to understand – every time you've possessed me, I've been taking a massive risk. If you're somehow hiding something from me, you could just kill me, or use me to do something horrible. At first that hadn't hit me fully, but it has now, and I'm not comfortable just giving myself over to you like that."

"Why? When have I ever hurt you? Through these decades of pain, I've retained enough of my decency to act altruistically, rather than maliciously, towards you. After those decades alone, it was such a relief to meet you, but it was an even greater relief to possess you. I felt alive, Ginny, for the first time since I was originally abducted. And now, I don't mean to put any pressure on you, and I feel so manipulative and even evil saying this, but it's true: I feel like I'll shrivel up and die if I wind up alone again. I physically need to inhabit your body, Ginny. Please."

"...alright, Tim. Get ready."

The rustling sound of handgear being removed and Ginny taking a trust fall.


	21. Utilitarian Priorities Again

Wolfsbane, Devil's Snare, Venomous Tentacula, Jumanjian Plot Kudzu, Eclipse Ivy, Spiky Ivy, Writhing Ivy, Screechsnaps, Puffapods, Saint Etheldreda's Flytraps, Bubotubers, Ultraviolets, Mandrakes – mostly Mandrakes. The Hogwarts greenhouse was filled to the brim with exotic magical plants, many of which refused to stay silent, ever, and it consequently felt like the busiest and most crowded section of the school, even though, at present, it contained only two members of the animal kingdom - both humans.

Pomona Sprout, the Herbology Professor at Hogwarts, was not having a very good day. The most obvious manifestation of her not-very-good day had been when, during a fourth year Gryffindor class, a student had deigned to spell her name in small flaming letters, and rearrange them into a rude phrase. Pomona hated disrespect, nearly as much as she hated fire (seeing as it was the natural enemy of so many plants). But that incident (which had fortunately at least led to several students receiving detention) had merely been symptomatic of a larger-scale issue, wherein the public knowledge of her unwitting involvement in last year's evil subplot had led the school to see her in a different light – particularly now that new, more blatant evil was afoot, and it was convenient, at least for the sake of a joke, to suggest that she might be a tool of darkness again. She wasn't. Pomona Sprout was perhaps the single person at Hogwarts least involved in an evil plot.

Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, the Chief Warlock, didn't think he was having a very good day either, though the truth was that his problems were ultimately much less significant than those of Professor Sprout. After more than a year in the wizarding world, he had finally come up with a magical "cheat" that, though not quite an instant path to godhood, was still a damn sight more powerful than anything of its type that had previously existed. Unfortunately, this year was full of distractions: Bellatrix stirring up international crap and continuing to evade capture, Slytherin's Monster causing political drama right around Harry's own home, the Anti-Patronus doing Harry-didn't-even-know-what-but-it-sounded-very-bad... Why was Slytherin's Monster alive, anyway? Hadn't Voldemort heavily implied he'd killed it?

Maybe that was a ruse, just to keep Harry away from the Chamber. Harry had been looking for the Chamber ever since it had become a looming threat to Hogwarts students, but he had had little luck. It had been easy to find secret passageways hidden from the ninety nine percent of Hogwarts students who weren't Parselmouths; in fact, Voldemort had showed him one such passageway last year. But that was just the thing - they were easy to find, they were empty, and they were interconnected; they permeated the school, and were nearly as large. They connected with each other in no coherent way; occasionally there was a dangerous trap, or a cryptic device that certainly did _something_, but Harry didn't know what that something was. What there wasn't, as far as Harry could tell, was Slytherin's Monster, or a Chamber to contain it. Not that he'd explored enough of the labyrinth to really say that with a firm conviction. Harry had only penetrated the first layer of Slytherin's security, and he knew it.

On top of all of these externalities, there were two inherent problems with Harry's new ascension idea: if the method ceased to be a secret, then murdering Harry suddenly became a much more attractive proposition for the world at large. And once the process was initiated, it would be very difficult not to expose what he had done, at least to those immediately around him. Therefore, it was only really appropriate for either an emergency (akin to The Night Of The Thirty-Seven, though it wouldn't have worked in a circumstance quite that constrained) or an about-to-dominate-the-world-anyway endgame. There was another problem with Harry's idea, but it was a very minor one, and he was working on it at the moment.

"Hello, Professor Sprout," said Harry. She looked up from the Mandrake she was attending to and turned around.

"Oh, hello, Harry," said Professor Sprout.

"Attending to the Mandrakes?" said Harry.

"Yes," said Professor Sprout. "The new batch are in their critical window."

"Ah," said Harry. "For... Felix Felicis, right?"

"Right," said Professor Sprout, and something golden sprayed out of an atomizer in her hand into the pot. Harry silently allowed her to work, speaking up only when she seemed to be at a stopping point.

"I thought that potion was so broken when I heard about it the first time," said Harry.

"Come again?" said Professor Sprout.

"I mean..." said Harry. "I thought my understanding of it was too good to be true. And it was, because I'd misunderstood it."

"As many have," said Professor Sprout.

"It tries to give you what you want, but it doesn't actually know what you want," said Harry. "It's not very smart, and it's not good at modeling the desires of organisms that are."

"Not a problem with Mandrake saplings," said Professor Sprout. "Bless their little hearts. The Felix makes them smarter if you give it to them when they're growing, but they're still just plants."

"And when they're smarter, they're suitable for the Potion of Reanimation," said Harry.

"Precisely, Harry," said Professor Sprout. She didn't generally refer to her students by their first names, but Harry, being who he was, had a different status altogether.

"I can still hear some of them screaming instead of babbling, though," said Harry. The babbling ones actually unnerved Harry more than the screaming ones, because, their vocalizations formed real words and sometimes even phrases. It was probably just a Markov chain, but still...

"Don't remind me," said Professor Sprout. "Those are the ones I failed to properly administer the potion to. Total waste. Perfectly ordinary Mandrakes that are perfectly unsuitable for reviving the petrified. I'll have to put them down before their screams become dangerous to humans. I mean, not that the other ones are surviving either; I'll have to chop them up. And even the smartest Mandrakes scream when they're being killed." The Herbology Professor just laughed, and Harry decided not to model the mental processes that led to the laughter.

"Theoretically, because of how Felix Felicis works, any Mandrake _could _emerge from their critical window in the state of heightened intelligence," said Harry. "It's just an infinitesimally small chance." Professor Sprout stopped to consider this before accepting that it was essentially correct.

"Yes," said Professor Sprout. "The Felix just ensures it."

"Got it," said Harry. Harry weighed the value of the Mandrakes' lives with the value of his petrified classmates, before recoiling in horror – of course his classmates were more valuable. The Mandrakes were more intelligent than your average plant, but were easily less developed than a variety of animals Harry would've sacrificed to save human lives without even blinking. They were only marginally more ethically significant than an embryo. "I actually had a different question I came here to ask you."

"Ask away," said Professor Sprout.

"How would I purchase industrial quantities of Screechsnap Sap?" said Harry.

"Come again?" said Professor Sprout. "I understand that you want to know about purchasing Screechsnap Sap, correct? But there was something I was missing."

"Industrial quantities?" said Harry, and Professor Sprout seemed puzzled. Harry reminded himself that the concept of "industrial quantities" would be foreign to a wizard; mass-production was a little-known secret among them. "How would I buy it in bulk?"

"I can't imagine what you'd want it for," said Professor Sprout, "but Slug &amp; Jiggers Apothecary is your best bet, seeing as it's a potion ingredient. They might not have as much as you want in stock, depending on how absurd you're currently feeling, but you could always place an order with them. At Hogwarts we harvest our own sap, but we only make as much as we need year-to-year."

"Thank you," said Harry. "That's much more helpful than what Professor Slughorn said." If Professor Slughorn really wanted Harry to join his 'Slug Club', he'd have to do a lot better than answering Harry's questions with "Professor Sprout could probably give you a better answer".

"You're welcome," said Professor Sprout. "Are you going now? I really need to get back to work; this stockpile is critically important for preserving the integrity of Hogwarts' student body. I'm sure Headmistress McGonagall told you as well."

"Indeed she did," said Harry, "and indeed I am. Going. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye," said Professor Sprout. Harry left, walking past a Mandrake that had just discovered a novel proof of the Pythagorean Theorem, a Mandrake wedding, and a heated Mandrake debate on whether humans were an intelligent species or a mysterious force of nature.

* * *

_BFIM!_

A noise that was high and low all at once in pitch, like a bullet ricocheting off of a drum at a near-flat angle, but deafeningly loud, shook Hogwarts' campus in the dark of the night. Accompanying it was a bright white beam of light, about as thick as a dinner plate, which suddenly burst out of the ground near the greenhouse and pierced the heavens. The beam persisted, and it gave off a quieter, but still awful, hum, and many were awoken, but many still decided to try to sleep.

_BFIM!_

A few moments later, a second, identical noise, alongside a second, identical beam, in a slightly different location. The ambient hum was twice as loud, now, and Headmistress McGonagall had already climbed out of bed and begun to rush downstairs. Her Time-Turner was jammed, a clear sign to her that Time was itself implicated in whatever was happening.

_BFIM!_

A third beam, and it was now geometrically obvious that the beams thus far assembled formed three of the four corners of a rectangle that would enclose the greenhouse. Harry, too, was now stirred, and his path downstairs would soon merge with Minerva's. Each was occupied with a slew of barely-coherent Patronus messages.

_BHUM!_

The fourth and final beam knocked everyone down; its volume was not something one could account for. The new ambient noise, too, was far greater than a simple quadrupled form of the first ambient noise phase - for the space between the beams was now filled in with a translucent but distinctly visible field swimming with electric yellow "veins". Anything and anyone in the greenhouse was trapped.

The Headmistress screamed upon seeing Pomona Sprout inside the field, pounding on its perimeter with her fists, pleading unhearable. Still, she rallied all of the staff she had summoned to cast every spell they knew at the strange, unknown enchantment, to hopefully break it. Even Harry was brought in to cast his Patronus. But it could not penetrate the arcane shield, which simply absorbed many general use offensive spells Harry had never even previously heard of. Professor Columbus cast something that formed enormous spherical sponges in mid-air, that drew magic away from constructs around them before vanishing, but it had no visible effect. Worse still, the silhouette in the greenhouse was moving...

It was a figure shrouded in magical smoke; its movements were more like a banshee than a human, and even many professors would later swear it was an Inferius. It projected Fiendfyre from its arms, which grew to consume and melt the greenhouse. And it dragged Pomona Sprout into the blaze, to hasten her end. The Headmistress was running out of breath to scream with, but many others, who were trickling out of the castle to see the commotion up close, were only beginning.

There was a magical burst (slightly muffled, as Harry vaguely recognized) and a sizeable percentage of Hogwarts' student body became able to see Thestrals.

In the mangled wreckage of the greenhouse, the dark figure bent down, obsessively stroked the ashes as if they were its lover, and finally stood. The Fiendfyre had mostly died down, except for a few small pockets immediately to the figure's sides. It mechanically waved at the terrorized crowd, and the flames surged up around it; when they puffed out of existence seconds later, so too had the figure.

About a minute later, the protective field vanished - but there was immediately a muffled explosion that caved in the ground on which the greenhouse had stood, and Professor Flitwick sustained a broken bone. So ended the assault. The scene was roped off and thoroughly analyzed; several things of note were discovered. First, and a foregone conclusion, Professor Sprout's charred body. Second, a series of unusual, unknown magical artifacts - four stone discs that had clearly been used to generate the protective field, and one complex, multicolored widget, towards the center of the scene, with the letters "NB" carved into it but its purpose otherwise unknown. Third, something that the Aurors all nearly missed, but was of great interest to Harry. Fourth, absolutely no plants, none at all - at least none that were alive. Fifth, a message scrawled in the ashes: "YOU WILL BE PERMITTED TO GROW MANDRAKES WHEN THE INTERDICT IS ENDED". (This was foolish, explained the Headmistress, not only because there was no way to end the Interdict of Merlin, but because Hogwarts was obviously not the only site working to prepare Potions of Reanimation.)

Five suspects were investigated. Hermione Granger was investigated first on the basis of her phoenix and its abilities resembling the mysterious figure's disappearance from the area, but it was quickly determined that phoenixes and Fiendfyre were mutually exclusive magical instruments; the same person could not wield both (and, in fact her phoenix was now in hiding as it was now considered vulnerable to attack). Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres identified an artifact at the scene as stolen from the Time Room at the Department of Mysteries, used to prevent Time-Turner-based examination of the attack. Ginny Weasley failed to show up promptly when summoned, but her alibi, that she was using the restroom at the time, and was only vaguely aware that a calamity was occurring, ultimately proved sufficient. Gilderoy Lockhart was detained because he was the Defense Professor, but no one could think of any other reason to suspect him. And Lesath Lestrange, who was not by any means the Heir of Slytherin, was held for questioning, owing largely to unrelated matters, though his location was unaccounted for during the incident. He was suspended from all classes indefinitely, on the request of Miss Tracey Davis. Following the public execution of Pomona Sprout, Lesath Lestrange was the only individual made to suffer consequences.

* * *

"And make no mistake about it," said Hermione. "If Hogwarts hadn't needed so badly to punish _somebody_, then Lesath Lestrange would still be alive."


	22. The Problem Of Suicide

"I didn't mean-" said Tracey.

"Wizards can't be hanged-" said Colin.

"-with Muggle rope, idiot," said Peregrine.

"That's such an advanced curse, though, where-" said Lavender.

"He's an older Slytherin boy and his mother is Bellatrix Black," said Cho.

"...I'm so sorry..." said Daphne Greengrass.

"Meta Merlin..." said Harry. "I told him that I really regretted having to do this, but he should stop coming to-"

"It's not your fault, Harry," said Hermione.

"Let's see..." said Luna, shuffling some cards, which Ginny distinctly saw go in and out of each other and transform via a magic she didn't know. "The Hanged Man in The Tower... that definitely means that Death is coming."

"Death already came, Luna," said Ginny.

"No," said Luna. "It's still coming. ...I'd better warn everyone."

A student saw Lesath's corpse hanging in the Astronomy Tower before the Hogwarts administration managed to isolate the area to prepare a controlled release of information, so news spread rapidly through the student population. Nothing prevented Professor McGonagall from going back in time six hours to ensure there was no foul play involved, but of course she borrowed Hermione's cloak of invisibility to do it – if she contacted Lesath, she knew, she would be further causally linked to his death than she had to be. No direct evidence of evildoing was found; in fact, Lesath even enchanted the rope to hang a wizard himself.

Lesath left a note, which read as follows:

"To all beings:

I am faulty, not by an accident of Birth but by an Accident of Growth. I am the Scion of the Wicked and Most Reviled House of Lestrange. My Mother didn't do anything wrong, and yet you all believe that it is Her debt I must repay. In truth, I would say that it is my Fathers'. Tonight I leave this world and in your eyes complete the transition from Dark Lord to Light.

Until last year, I was mocked and scorned and beaten for the Lines that Created me. Now there are only whispers of that, though I know they are still there. Now I am feared and hated and punished for trying to start my own line, as I see naturally fit. You were all repulsed by the thought that I might someday be a Father, never mind that I don't believe I am like any of my Fathers, and being the Mother would not be made compulsory. I'm not like any of my Fathers? Am I? Your Repulsion has proven as contagious as dragon pox and I am now equally Repulsed by the thought of my Line continuing|

It has recently been confided in me that I am 'Worth More Dead Than Alive'. If you figure out Who told me this, do not punish Them. They wern't being cruel. They only told me the Truth. I will now be Worth More. I will now cease to exist. When the Philosopher's Stone has destroyed Death, the better world you create will be better for not having me in it. Don't blame my Master and don't blame my Mother.

The Last You'll See Of,

Lesath Lestrange."

Headmistress McGonagall sent the rope that Lesath used to the Ministry to be burned, as it was a contaminated, potentially critically dangerous magical artifact.

* * *

Lesath's fate got Ginny thinking about a topic she subconsciously avoided thinking about – suicide. She had long ago realized, from various reports, that suicide was a potentially fatal mental break; a sickness rather than a sin. It would be an obvious, appalling injustice if, as she was often told, "suicides went to Hell". The common justification for suicide being a sin – that your life did not belong to you, but to God, or, in a secularized context, the people around you, so there's no distinction between suicide and murder – grated terribly on Ginny; she did not feel that her sense of self-ownership was a sin, but rather a virtue. And yet it was equally clear to Ginny that failing to prevent suicide was awful, like leaving people with cancer to die, and classifying it as a sin certainly accomplished that job.

Ginny had a hard time modeling the mind of a suicidal person, because her strong aversion to dying made it easy for her to dismiss the relevant intrusive thoughts when they occurred. Only guilt could change that, and Ginny couldn't think of anything grand in scope for her to be guilty about. She supposed an over-focus on guilt could be the cause... they certainly said that had been what happened to Lesath, though Ginny suspected it was far more complicated.

But why, after all, did Ginny even have a strong aversion to dying? It was hard for her to articulate rationally a reason that she didn't desire to hasten her own death, though she certainly didn't. She believed in an afterlife; indeed, she believed that the afterlife was better than what came before it. She believed that committing suicide could not be considered unethical, and that even if it could, it could not cause exclusion from Heaven. So why not, given these axioms, point her wand at her neck and whisper "_Diffindo_"? If that was too direct for metaphysical comfort, why not find a club, go to a nightmarish country, and go around bothering heathens until she wound up martyred? Maybe that was where the first trolls came from...

Ginny's first thought was that her impulse to remain alive must be a less coherent form of the impulse people like Harry, who didn't believe in an afterlife, possessed. From their perspective, of course, this truly was obvious and rational. From hers, not so much; this suggested to Ginny that she still only had belief in belief – but hadn't her Patronus disproved that thought? She then decided that her survival instinct, which overpowered what otherwise seemed to be rational thought, must have come from somewhere biological, and it was certainly, on an evolutionary level, supposed to be there. So that left three options. Either Ginny was one of the few people to become sufficiently religiously enlightened to realize that suicide was the correct course of action, and she should probably let other people know on her way out... or she had made a drastic mistake at some point along her reasoning... or...

Or there was some higher purpose to the construct of life than simply giving minds a place to reside. Perhaps it was instructional – that suggested reincarnation, which Ginny didn't like one bit, particularly the part about forgetting past lives, which seemed a rather obvious, and terrifying, patch to a rather obvious problem – or perhaps it was computational. Perhaps every human being was part of a vast computer set up to solve difficult problems, to uncover mysteries... Every man, woman, and child a subroutine... That wasn't an adequate explanation alone, but it was approaching one. Ginny rested content. There was no point in fighting an irrational instinct if it caused you to further a moral good. _I might belong to myself_, thought Ginny, _but why wreck someone's project? If I'm forty and I've gotten an intelligent computer made out of specks, finally, and it just disassembles itself, then I'd forgive it but I certainly wouldn't be happy. And it's not like I'm missing out on the afterlife by staying alive as long as possible._

Ginny's Patronus got a bit brighter that day, and thankfully for Ginny's mental wellbeing, she never quite internalized that it was the direct result of Lesath's tragedy.


	23. Amorphous Confusion

Every human being, rationalist or not, has a reservoir in their brain where disbelief is suspended. If too much disbelief flows into that reservoir too quickly, it will burst and the brain will scramble to recreate its picture of reality from scratch. This is why, for example, a secret evil overlord who should already be the target of suspicion should not orchestrate plots that immediately appear absurd; dazzling absurd plots are only for situations where it is certain that they could not point back at oneself even vaguely. (See also: the Hogwarts third-floor corridor, 1992-06-13.)

However, the reservoir may also be burst gradually, not by rapid addition of unbelievable things in succession, but by slow addition of them, over the course of a year or a lifetime. In late March, 1993, that was happening to Ginevra Weasley; the tipping point was probably when, following Professor Sprout's untimely and horrific demise, Ginny felt strangely unwholesome, on top of simply feeling un-whole. The strange damage to Ginny – she seemed to feel it in her soul – was slowly healing, but she decided that to simply ignore and it let it heal would be malignantly stupid, so she opted to uncache some thoughts, beginning with _I should speak more with Hermione instead of giving into my Ugh Curses and avoiding her. _She opted to meet with Hermione after breakfast one Saturday. Hermione didn't make nearly so much of a pretense of being busy as Harry did.

"I just wanted to talk to you about the odd things that have been going on this year," said Ginny.

"There have certainly been a lot of them," said Hermione. "Harry hasn't been bothering you, has he?"

"Well..." said Ginny. "He got kind of aggressive about the whole religion thing for a couple of months, but he started to get quieter and more distant several weeks ago, and since the attack on the greenhouse, he's just been entirely withdrawn. He's even been missing meetings and having Blaise fill in for him, and it's just not the same? Blaise even read Harry's eulogy for Lesath. But mostly I wonder what Harry's up to."

"I've noticed that, too," said Hermione. "I have to be honest, I know some confidential details about what he's doing, and I can't tell you about them. But I don't even know what's been occupying him lately. He does still talk to me, but he absolutely refuses to discuss how he's spending most of his time, now. He says he'll probably tell me in a few months. I've seen some strange orders he's been filling. Odd business at the Hospital. I don't know what any of it _is_, though. But even if I did, I couldn't tell you."

"Huh," said Ginny. That was quite something. "That is fascinating. And probably very good news. The last couple of times Harry was up to something strange, it destroyed Azkaban and established the Peverell Family Hospital."

"The difference is that I was heavily involved in both of those things," said Hermione. "I have no idea what this is."

"All of that isn't actually what I wanted to talk to you about," said Ginny.

"Oh," said Hermione. "What is it, then? Your Patronus?"

"Oh, um, I don't have one," said Ginny. "Gave it my best shot but I guess I didn't figure out the riddle." Hermione smiled, perhaps inviting Ginny to proceed as though she hadn't asked the question. "Everything just seems wrong, lately, Hermione. To me personally, as if I'm missing something big. Not something big about the problem everyone's facing, but about the problems I'm facing, personally. Can I tell you something really secret and can you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Sure?" said Hermione, and as Hermione was thinking _wait, what if it's a security concern?, _Ginny was thinking _what, what if she feels she has to tell people anyway because it's a security concern?_

"Um, never mind," said Ginny. "What should I do if I suspect I'm being regularly Obliviated? I feel like I have big holes in my memory and my thought processes get clogged up with clouds of fog that I don't think originate from my own faulty brain."

"Oh!" said Hermione. "Harry actually taught me a pretty neat trick for this. Turns out it's useless for me because of my Sparkly Unicorn Princess powers but it should work just fine for you. If you suspect you're going to be Obliviated soon, covertly bite the inside of your lip really hard; so hard that you'll leave scar tissue for a long time. Commit to memory a long, long time in advance that if you've bitten the inside of your lip like that and don't remember doing it, you've been Obliviated. Occasionally it'll give a false positive, because humans do occasionally bite their lips in their sleep or something like that, but it should at least grant you a degree of protection."

"Brilliant," was all Ginny could say.

"It's very worrisome if you suspect you're being Obliviated, though, Ginny," said Hermione. "That's very worrisome for anyone – particularly a young girl. And that's on top of all of the other strange things that have been going on. You were one of the suspects after Professor Sprout was killed, weren't you?"

"Yes, but I was cleared," said Ginny. "I was just in the bathroom." The truth was that she had woken up in the bathroom, with a vague recollection that she had fallen asleep there, but she had realized long ago that telling anyone this would be simply disastrous.

"Alright," said Hermione, just as worried as she had been seconds ago, if not moreso. "Also, if possible – which it likely won't be – try to leave some record of what you expect to be Obliviated of, somewhere where you expect to find it."

"That's actually very convenient," said Ginny. "Thanks for pointing it out."

"No problem," said Hermione. "But if you don't mind, could you give me more specifics on why you're suspicious of your perceptions?"

"I do mind," said Ginny. "It's very private."

"Private means a lot less in times like this," said Hermione. "People are dying, anywhere and without warning."

"Didn't you read Harry's first Method of December?" said Ginny. "'On Civil Liberties and Terrorism'?"

"Yes, I did, as a matter of fact," said Hermione, "and Harry was speaking of cases like Lesath Lestrange, who were investigated and hurt without anything even mistakable for evidence. Not saying that people should hold back in finding the actual offender. This is no time or context for fooling around; what did you notice?"

"It's just some cached thoughts I need to attend to," said Ginny.

"Cached thoughts can kill people, Ginevra," said Hermione. "What kind of cached thoughts are they?"

"Well, talking to you, for one," said Ginny. "I realized a long time ago that talking to you was a good idea because of how wise and conscientious and so on you are. But I kept putting it off because I was jealous of you." Hermione seemed to assume this was flattery, and looked distinctly unimpressed. "And also, Draco."

"Draco Malfoy?" said Hermione. "He's courting you, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Ginny. "And frankly, it all seems too good to be true. I've been meaning to test him for love potions; all I've gotten round to yet is Amortentia, because that one's such an easy test because its effects are so extreme."

"He likes you too much?" said Hermione. Ginny nodded. "Ginny, that's stupid; you're hiding something, and poorly."

"Um, no?" said Ginny. "I'm not?" The truth was that Ginny absolutely was hiding something, but that didn't mean she was exaggerating about Draco. "He really is acting weird; I tolerate it because I like it, but that doesn't mean it isn't _weird_. Out-of-character, even."

"Anything else?" said Hermione.

"Nothing of importance," said Ginny.

"Anything else?" said Hermione, much more pointedly.

"Just that I've more or less forgotten entirely about a lot of the predictions Luna's made and told me about," said Ginny.

"Oh," said Hermione, "you can probably ignore that. Divination is a bunch of pseudomagic, it's barely any more effective than the Muggle kind that amounts to random number generators and con art. Rarely ever rationally actionable because the source of magic is so intent on playing tricks on people."

"Technically, it's against my religion," said Ginny, "but the liberalized interpretation is that that only refers to the Muggle kind, since it's dishonest. A scam instead of a science."

"Wizard Divination isn't a science, either," said Hermione. "Luna's variety least of all."

"Maybe," said Ginny.

* * *

At the scheduled time, Ginny arrived at Draco's room, and entered using the knock Draco had shown her.

"Ginny!" said Draco. "What are those?" He was obviously looking at a small medicine bottle Ginny was holding; he snapped his fingers and Dobby disappeared from the room.

"Some pills I got from Madam Pomfrey," said Ginny. "I'm testing you." Draco was taken aback.

"Testing me for what, exactly?" said Draco.

"Love potions," said Ginny.

"This again?" said Draco.

"Yes, this again," said Ginny. "It's like Luna said. If the world around you seems too good to be true, then you're still in the mirror. And you seem too good to be true, so I'm trying to figure out which mirror I'm still in."

"Luna's rubbing off on you," said Draco. Ginny half-sneezed, and passed nine large pills – three light blue, three dark blue, and three yellow – to Draco, each of which radiated nausea.

"Here goes," said Draco. "If this is what it takes to prove it to you."

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Draco," said Ginny. "I'm proving things to myself." One by one, Draco swallowed the pills, and within minutes, they reappeared in Ginny's hand, each with a horizontal green line on them.

"Alright..." said Ginny. "Good, good, good... good... You're clean. There's still of course the possibility of Legilimency or an Imperius or simply evil plotting to explain your behavior..."

"Might I ask why you're so suspicious of my behavior all of a sudden?" said Draco.

"Oh, Draco," said Ginny. "I feel that something's very, very wrong with my life, and I have no idea what that is. So I'm approaching the problem systematically. Burning every possibility at the roots."

"A grim metaphor, considering the circumstances," said Draco. "Have you considered that the problem might be Harry? He's been acting odder and odder lately."

"Well... I have," said Ginny. "Probably not enough, but I have. But what would I do about that? Harry is absolutely impenetrable, Draco. He's unapproachable, especially when he wants to be. If he's keeping secrets from me, I am absolutely not going to figure them out until he wants me to. I trust he has my best interests at heart."

"But you don't trust that I do?" said Draco.

"Well, let's face it," said Ginny. "I think I love you, but I have no idea what your motivation is. What drives you? What's your goal in this story?"

"Well, first, to survive," said Draco. "That's harder than it should be at Hogwarts lately. The Monster could be anywhere at any time, and no one really knows what's going on."

"Exactly," said Ginny.

"Second, to forget," said Draco. "I want to put the past behind me."

"But why?" said Ginny. "Who would ever want to forget anything?"

"Well, I mean metaphorically forget," said Draco.

"What does that even mean?" said Ginny, raising her voice in the tradition of the Great Interrobang of Oz. Draco stopped, and put his hand over his mouth contemplatively, before speaking.

"It means I want to have something happier to think about instead," said Draco. "A place or person to escape to."

"I'm so sorry," said Ginny. "I wasn't really considering your perspective sufficiently. Or anyone's, really. Paranoia-"

"Third – and this should really have been second. So, first and a half," said Draco, "I want to protect as many people as possible from whatever it is that's going on at Hogwarts lately. I had a feeling this would be a bad year before the threats were even issued. That's why Professor Lockhart is employed here." Ginny nodded.

"What?" asked Ginny.

"That's why he's employed here?" said Draco. "Because I contacted him to protect us? I've told you this before, I'm sure."

"I don't believe so," said Ginny. Draco appeared troubled by this.

"Tim told me that Gilderoy Lockhart could protect us from the trouble brewing at Hogwarts," said Draco.

"I'm not sure if I trust Tim," said Ginny. "Has he ever possessed you?"

"You've asked me this before," said Draco. Ginny was growing impatient. Not with Draco specifically; more with whatever force was making a riddle out of her life.

"And what did you say then?" asked Ginny.

"I let Tim possess me so he could speak to Lockhart, to persuade him to come to Hogwarts," said Draco.

"That sounds bad," said Ginny. "Very, very bad."

"But I did it to protect you," said Draco. "You and everyone. And you've got to admit that he's the best replacement for Monroe we could get."

"It just... it doesn't make sense, Draco!" said Ginny. "Something isn't right." But Ginny was already beginning to calm down, because her mind's model of Tim was telling her that she should appreciate the present more, because she never knew when everything might change. She didn't know if she'd remember this moment in years or even days, so, she figured, she should make the most of it.

"Maybe..." said Draco.

"Let's talk about something else," said Ginny.

* * *

When Luna was permitted to leave the Infirmary (not long after she was admitted), she was crying. But soon, Ginny appeared, which helped to soak up some of her tears – literally, of course; Luna cried directly into Ginny's robes. Ginny tried to calm Luna down, and finally began asking questions.

"Luna, thank God you're alright," said Ginny. "I've heard a lot of conflicting stories; what happened?"

"I was having – tea," started Luna. "With Marietta Edgecombe."

"Go on," said Ginny. "Tell me everything."

"Impossible," said Luna. "But anyway, I was baking those fortune cookies I showed you a few months ago."

"They don't work very well," said Ginny, and she immediately wondered why she'd said it. An attempt to lighten the mood? What an awful attempt.

"Yes, they do!" said Luna. "I opened mine, and the fortune was 'Run.' So I did, and I told Marietta to run too, but she must have thought I was just having a fit or something. But I could hear something coming, so I hid, and I could feel the Basilisk drawing near, and Marietta couldn't get away, and she was petrified."

"Reversibly?" said Ginny.

"Of course, but it's still awful," said Luna. "Not to mention that I think they're covering something up about the Potions of Reanimation. I think it's going to be longer than they're saying before the people can be restored. I didn't finish my story. I'm crouched in an uncomfortable position in the cabinet, hoping that the Basilisk will go away, when I hear a human voice, and it's unrecognizable because it's been deepened. And it says '_Petrificus Totalus'. _And I can't move. For hours. Then we're both found, and I'm unfrozen and made to answer questions about what happened to her, and I tell them pretty much what I just told you, and then they let me go but half the school is probably going to think it's me, now! I was getting my worst marks in Herbology, and I saw Colin as a bit of a rival, and... and..."

"It's not you, Luna," said Ginny. "I have a strong feeling that the person behind all of this is going to be caught very soon, and be stopped. This is all almost over."

"How can you say that?" Luna asked, through tears. "You're not a Seer." But what Luna didn't know was that the interior of Ginny's mouth had a deep gash in it. By Ginny's bedside, furthermore, was a speck that explained in Parseltongue that she was about to take Tim to investigate the Chamber. And best of all, Ginny had firmly decided, about thirty minutes ago, never to take Tim out of his box to speak to him again.


	24. Pax Romana

Ginny had already recovered from her shock – many months ago, actually (that's the thing about being Obliviated; to some degree you can get used to a state of affairs you don't even know about). So, rather than panicking, she made a premeditated decision not to take any further action. She didn't bring Tim to the attention of the Headmistress, Harry, Hermione, or any other authorities, because, having been Obliviated, she didn't actually know how involved she was, and a legal precedent about a century old established that one is still culpable for crimes committed prior to Obliviation, even if the Obliviation was entirely unrequested.

What she did do was place Tim's box – with Tim's diary inside, and Tim inside it – under her bed, where it had normally gone before. She then heaped on top of it spare blankets, and quilts, and pillows, and anything else obscuring that didn't look out-of-place in the dorm. Her hope was that she had buried her problem (she could literally bury it over the summer), and for a while, this certainly seemed to be the case. About a month went by with a shockingly low amount of incident, and every day that thus passed simultaneously convinced Ginny that she, and everyone else, was now safe, and that she had really been at the root of the problems, by trusting Tim, all along. But no matter – it was all over, now. There was some guilt, but Ginny was mostly proud to have finally fixed the problem - particularly seeing as that's all she could actually remember doing.

On one occasion, Ginny decided to speak to Hermione about her calculator – it now fully supported multiplication and division, and could even solve basic algebra problems, if they involved only a single unknown and the four basic arithmetic functions. Doing so involved outing herself as a Parselmouth, but she suspected Harry and Hermione were close enough that she already knew that.

"I'm also strongly considering inventing a spell that will enable non-Parselmouths to make just-as-effective use of _Sapespeck,_" said Ginny. "With more difficulty than a Parselmouth can, but still perfectly within a normal wizard's ability. The way that the new spell works is so clear in my mind that I'm sure it'll be the first thing I invent once I get a leg up on Ancient Runes, and then I'm pretty sure it'll be central to some of my N.E.W.T. projects."

"Wow," said Hermione. "I can tell you, as a Muggle who's familiar with computing - this really does have as much potential as you think – or maybe more. This is exactly the kind of thing Harry would love to hear about if he weren't so busy."

"Oh, well, I actually showed him a prototype a few months ago," said Ginny. "It wasn't as robust, but the basic idea was there. He didn't seem particularly interested."

"Ugh," said Hermione. "Something's wrong about Harry, you know? He's slowly been getting worse and worse since some time after Voldemort finally died; he's falling back into some nasty mental patterns and he barely seems to listen when I point it out. It hurts me to say this, especially seeing as Voldemort killed me, but I think he might have left a power vacuum behind that's dangerous with Harry around. I like Harry, I'm closer to him than anyone, but I think he might be getting Dark. I mean, that's a bit of a stretch, but it's just, aloof – aloof doesn't cover it."

"Maybe he's just getting smarter and smarter," said Ginny, "and he's less and less on our level."

"You know what happens to things that just get smarter and smarter," said Hermione, and Ginny shook her head. Hermione mimed an explosion, and mouthed a related onomatopoeia. Ginny rolled her eyes at this.

_And they say that she's smart,_ thought Ginny.

"Maybe you should try to talk to him more," thought Ginny. It was hard for Ginny to spur Hermione towards Harry, but she'd attained her own happiness, and if Harry was becoming solitary and detached from reality, it was probably for the best that he get closer to his loved ones. Just look at what happened to Lesath! (Not that Harry would do _that._ Dying was too unappealing to him and he had too much reason to go on.)

"I've tried," said Hermione. "But maybe I should... try harder?"

"That's the spirit!" said Ginny. That sort of feel-good optimism continued to propel Ginny through the happy month with no Tim and no attacks.

On Good Friday, Ginny and several of her classmates (mostly her siblings) were granted a religious exemption enabling them to Floo home for the weekends; they were all nearly prevented thanks to "reconsiderations of the policy", but a quick visit from Molly Weasley sorted that out. On Sunday, at the Ottery St. Catchpole Eastern Samothrace Orthodox Chapel, though, Ginny received quite a surprise.

"Draco!" said Ginny.

"Ginny," said Draco.

"Draco?" said Molly.

"Mrs. Weasley?" said Draco.

"Malfoy!" said Ron, with accompanying antipathetic noises from the twins.

"Yes, you're Ginny's friend, aren't you?" said Molly.

"He sure is," said Ron, and he made a gagging noise. Molly snapped her fingers, and Ron disappeared.

"What are you doing here?" said Molly. "Aren't you still supposed to be in school?"

"Well, your daughter – Ginny," said Draco, "has been telling me about the service, and the celebration, and the history, and the _story –_ the Creation, the Exaltation, the Manifestation, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection, the Resonance, the Metastasis."

"Precisely correct," said Percy; Draco nodded and smiled.

"So I decided I had to come visit and see," said Draco. Molly Weasley looked positively awed, proud of her daughter, a far cry from the mother who had, over winter break, delivered stern, grotesque warnings about the things young Malfoy men were known to do.

"Here's a young man who's happy to go to church on a Sunday!" said Molly. "Fred, George, you could learn a thing or two." Fred and George looked somewhere between uncomfortable and amused; Arthur and Bill were, of course, already inside. Charlie, of course, had made an excuse again not to come home this year.

Another nineteen days of public peace came and went. As far as Ginny knew, all was well.

* * *

"_Obliviate! Rebliviate!"_

It was a Sunday in mid-April. That was all the context Cho Chang had on where she was and why she was there. _This looks like I'm leaving the Defense room, where Professor Lockhart teaches, where Professor Quirrell taught in my second year, where Professor Burbage taught in my first. What am I doing here? It's a weekend, right? Not a class day? Why can't I remember?_ This question was quickly painted over.

Cho realized that she was holding a scroll, so she looked down at it; it was an essay she remembered writing for Defense Against the Dark Arts, just last week. "On The Applicability Of Various Muggle Schools In Magical Combat". What was that in red above it? "T"? For "Troll"? No, that didn't make sense. The essay wasn't Cho's best work, but this was completely outside her hypothesis space. Cho slowly turned around, and saw Professor Lockhart, Gilderoy Lockhart, sitting at his desk, staring up at her as she was about to leave, and she realized that she was about to leave because she'd gotten nervous about confronting the Defense Professor.

"Miss Chang?" said Professor Lockhart. "Is there something you wish to discuss with me?"

"Um..." said Cho, and she couldn't back down now. She just couldn't. It had to be his mistake, it had to, that or she'd made a drastic, drastic mistake. Either Professor Lockhart had mistakenly written the wrong mark, or she had made a colossal error of judgment somewhere in writing. Professor Lockhart was too smart, he couldn't actually make a bad judgment. How had Cho screwed up so badly? "Yes." And she'd thought Professor Lockhart had seen potential in her! He was taking her on quests! Quests of meaningful importance for the wellbeing of all of Hogwarts!

"Is there a problem?" said Lockhart.

"Um, yes," said Cho, walking down the steps towards him. "It's about my essay..."

"Ah," said Lockhart, and he waited for Cho to arrive at his desk.

"Is this a 'T' for 'Troll'?" said Cho.

"Yes," said Lockhart. "They were going to rename it 'Terrible' out of respect, but Miss Granger insisted they were being overly sensitive." A million thoughts ran through Cho's head, and finally one came out:

"What did I do?" asked Cho.

"Apparently not a good essay!" said Professor Lockhart, more in disgust than humor. "I wrote notes in the margins pointing out some of your more egregious errors."

"What?" said Cho. "Oh." She felt very stupid, not to have noticed them. Or – she did, and then she just forgot about them. Yes, glancing down, it was a miserable essay, and she could barely believe she'd turned it in and expected any better. She must have been half asleep. It still didn't make sense. Why had she even come here to complain? Why was she even still permitted to breathe air? "We went on quests," Cho stuttered. The Defense Professor stared at her, and blinked.

"Are you suggesting you should therefore be subjected to nepotism?" said Lockhart. "Because if so, you insult me and my integrity."

"I'm sorry!" said Cho. "It's just, I just - I want it to disappear. I know I can't. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it. It's fair, life's fair, but I want this to go away." She shook the scroll desperately, and this time, Professor Lockhart did laugh, albeit darkly.

"All Ravenclaw girls are the same," said Professor Lockhart, with a sneer. "They want extra credit here, they want a chance to rewrite a shameful term paper there. They don't want to work hard for it in the first place like a Hufflepuff, and they're not brave enough to accept their mistake like a Gryffindor, and they don't want anything grander like a Slytherin. Just a little slip of paper that affirms that they're Really Smart." Cho tried to object, but she knew she wasn't supposed to. She had a feeling that Lockhart was right, anyway.

"Although," continued Professor Lockhart, "I'll confess that most Ravenclaw girls who come to me with sob stories have papers better than this." He seized the scroll from the spot on his desk where Cho had set it, so that she could sob into her hands. "So I expected most of the class to perform decently on the assignment, so I didn't see any problem, tying such a large portion of the class marks to it. This assignment is simply necessary for perfect course performance. With a T? At least two full course grades down." This was not alleviating Cho's crying in the least. "You really are in trouble, Miss Chang. Worse than you'd imagined, I'd wager."

"But..." said Lockhart, and the scroll vanished from his hand. "I can erase it from the record." It came back. "Or I could do what I'm supposed to. But I'm not altogether opposed to the idea. I do care for you, Cho – at least in some sense. And there's something I'd be willing to trade for my good marks." Lockhart smiled, and Cho was just confused. What was he leading up to?

"Another quest to avenge Cedric?" said Cho.

"A quest of sorts," said Lockhart. "To forget Cedric."

How Dark was the Defense Professor, exactly? Were they about to set off for some haunted cottage filled with the screams of the damned?

"Would you believe that the quarters assigned to the Defense Professor are immediately behind this classroom?" said Lockhart. "They moved it here when Professor Quirrell moved the classes. Actually, Professor Monroe. Actually... I would speculate he was actually Voldemort - or at least my friends in high places would."

"What a horrible thing to say," said Cho. "But - what friends in high places? It's an intriguing possibility; is it related-"

"Shut up," said Lockhart. "I got off track. This conversation is about you... your marks... what you're worth... and me. Follow me." Professor Lockhart beckoned towards the dwellings behind the Defense Hall, and Cho followed, because she believed she had nowhere else to go.

It proceeded that Cho was Obliviated about three more times that day, before finally leaving the classroom with a perfect essay (the one she had actually written), no recollection of any other essay, and a nice story about how she and Professor Lockhart had gone and confronted giants over their possible trafficking of cockatrice eggs, which could potentially have been used for the recent attacks.


	25. Occam's Razor, Part 1

_ It moved._

It's probably not physically possible. It wasn't physically possible, it couldn't possibly be physically possible. And yet Ginny could feel, like in the story about The Princess And The Doxy Egg, that there were less things under her bed than there were supposed to be. And like in that fable, she would soon be set upon by doxies – or worse.

Where was Tim? Where was he? Ginny quickly tore apart the mountain of blankets beneath her bed, and confirmed that the box was empty. Someone had taken Tim out of his box, and Ginny didn't know where they'd put him.

Had Ginny been possessed and Obliviated recently? She didn't know. It was the middle of the afternoon and she was lying on her bed and she couldn't quite remember when she'd gotten here. Her lip wasn't freshly wounded, but perhaps this time she had been actively prevented from marking herself thus; simply being surprised with physical contact with the diary and being mentally overpowered to the extent that she had no control whatsoever over her body ought to do it.

Ginny's eyes shot to Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting on her bed adjacent to Ginny's, brushing her hair, poorly. No, the diary wasn't anywhere nearby. Then where was it?

_Tim – Diary – Box – Draco?_

Ginny was soon running to the boys' dormitories, and then to Draco's private room. A quick knock (the secret one Draco had shown her) opened the door, and revealed that he was studying – but mildly, though pleasantly, confused by Ginny's presence.

"Ginny!" said Draco. "What is it?"

"Where is Tim?" said Ginny, firm punctuation after each word.

"You lost him?" said Draco, appalled.

"No, wand-shard," said Ginny, who had no time for nonsense today. "He escaped somehow."

"...what?" said Draco.

"What is Tim?" said Ginny.

"He's a book," said Draco. "He can't escape."

"What is he?" said Ginny. "You know better than I do; you're where he came from. Sorry, I skipped over something – he's what was petrifying people."

"What?" said Draco. "No, that's – what evidence do you have?" He'd gone from bored to sweating in nothing flat.

"I began to suspect I was being Obliviated," said Ginny, "so I began taking precautionary measures. And then one day I wake up to discover that I've sent myself a signal that I'm afraid I'm about to be Obliviated, and I don't remember sending it. So I check in a predesignated location, and I've recorded a message for myself in Parseltongue that I'm about to let Tim possess me and investigate the Chamber. And I don't remember recording the message and I don't remember being possessed. And then I find out Marietta Edgecombe's just been petrified. So I get the general idea that something's up, you know?"

Draco was just repeating "oh God" over and over again in various intonations.

"I immediately shut him in his box and pledged to myself not to open it, and there haven't been any attacks since," said Ginny.

"So-" started Draco.

"So I think I was right," said Ginny, "and now Tim's disappeared. Someone rifled through my things and removed him, I think, and they put everything back in order but I could feel that it had happened. I think I've been Obliviated again. This is a disaster. Tell me everything you know about Tim."

"I had some idea that my father got him from the Dark Lord," said Draco, "but I didn't update on that once I realized that he was just out-and-out evil and didn't have any of our best interests in mind and wouldn't give someone a gift just to reward them. They always have catches! Like the silver hand he gave Fenrir Greyback!"

"Yeah, strangled him, I know," said Ginny. "And I knew Tim came from Voldemort. But he said he was made out of an unwilling test subject, and now he hated Voldemort and wanted to act against him."

"The Dark Lord wouldn't create a being that could turn against him," said Draco. "And Tim didn't tell me anything like that; he just said he was named Tim. There wasn't any backstory, not as far as he provided. He just listened to me talk about my problems, and responded with support. Sometimes he gave advice, and sometimes he indicated that he had some basic background about the wizarding world, but he needed me to update him on any new current events that happened. Eventually he convinced me to consent to possession, but as far as I could tell, he only ever did things while I was possessed that I already wanted, so I was just thankful for it."

"Do you have a perfect memory of being possessed?" said Ginny.

"Of course not!" said Draco. "Tim explained to me that being possessed impairs your ability to form memories. I only remember the fadeout."

"That's not what he told me," said Ginny. "In fact, he told me he had no ability to make me anything less than fully aware while possessed, and he told me in a magic way that prevented him from lying."

"What, did he make an Unbreakable Vow to you?" said Draco.

"No, he spoke to me in Parseltongue," said Ginny. "I'm a Parselmouth, and you can't lie in Parseltongue. Of course, it eventually turned out I was being Obliviated, so I guess he was twisting the truth..."

"The Dark Lord was a Parselmouth," said Draco. "He'd use it to control his pet snake – of course, she's long since dead, thank God; she was even more antagonistic with the Death Eaters than he was." Ginny and Draco stared at each other uncomfortably.

"Could Tim be the Dark Lord in some way?" asked Ginny.

"Maybe," said Draco. "It sounds like the kind of thing you'd find in a tome of eldritch lore, coming back to life through your own talking diary."

"We're both such idiots," said Ginny. "It's so obvious. The conditions your father told you that you should open Tim under – did they sound a lot like 'once Voldemort is apparently as far as anyone can tell one hundred percent dead'?"

"No," said Draco. "...yes." Ginny made a vocal sound that fulfilled the same purpose as an expletive but was not a coherent linguistic expression. "I see what you're saying. It's the only way anything makes sense; I became sentimentally attached to Tim, but his entire existence only makes sense if he's actually the Dark Lord. We're in trouble."

"The question is just, what does he want with the Chamber of Secrets, and why is he attacking people?" said Ginny.

"And where is he?" said Draco.

"That's what I was asking you!" said Ginny.

"I don't know," said Draco.

"You don't know," said Ginny, "and I don't know, so where is he? Who else could possibly have him? Luna? I remember loaning Tim to Luna once, but she said she didn't let him possess it. They actually didn't get along with each other at all, so that didn't make sense."

"You loaned Tim out?" said Draco.

"Yeah, I know, I'm an idiot," said Ginny.

"To Luna?" said Draco, still indignant.

"_I know_," said Ginny, more indignant still.

"Don't hiss at me," said Draco.

"Sorry," said Ginny, and she blushed. "Who else?

"Hmm..." said Draco.

"The Defense Professor is suspicious because he's the Defense Professor," said Ginny, "among other reasons, which admittedly aren't very significant, like how no one's sure where he lived for a decade after the war, and how he's so much more skilled than everyone who knew him remembered, and now he's acting as a mysterious old wizard for heroes-to-be - but it's all technically possible for someone who went off and independently studied for a decade; he's frankly pretty similar to Monroe. And I can't think of any connection he has to Tim."

"You're right," said Draco.

"Harry's been acting weird lately," said Ginny. "Maybe we should check him."

"Okay," said Draco. "What about Hermione?"

"Well, she's been normal," said Ginny, "but maybe that's exactly the act she'd be putting on if she were up to something. Good point. The Headmistress?"

"Now we're just getting silly," said Draco. "Everyone can't be Tim. We need to narrow it down to the most likely-"

A soft echo of the hard scream of a prefect, rebounded through the corridors:

"Granger's been petrified!"


	26. Occam's Razor, Part 2

"Draco, we need to go out and find out what happened," said Ginny. "Find every clue we can."

"Clues?" said Draco. "Ginny, this isn't a Necronomicon Grey story. We're not Ravenclaws using our vast command of trivia to solve a mystery that's actually just a half-baked riddle. We're children in a war zone who just heard that someone was murdered. Temporarily. Hopefully."

"Still better to find out what's going on," said Ginny, and she turned to leave.

"If you're going, I'm going with you," said Draco. "You have to be safe." Ginny smiled at a job well done and fed her brain's "exploitation of chivalry" program a biscuit.

"Where was Hermione petrified?" Ginny called out to a prefect.

"Our secondary girls' bathroom, actually," said the prefect.

"Ginny," whispered Draco.

"What," whispered Ginny.

"That's where they killed a girl forty years ago," said Draco.

"Oh," said Ginny. She considered this. "Write down notes about everything we find out – actually, write notes about everything we already know, too. In case our progress is reset by Obliviation. Since that's clearly on the table."

"Got it," said Draco, and he'd already summoned a cloud of floating parchment scraps more typical of a Ravenclaw in finals week than a paranoid Slytherin.

"I wonder if anything Tim told me in Parseltongue actually matters," said Ginny. "If Obliviation is on the table, the False Memory Charm probably is too. Maybe he never actually said any of the things that I'm counting on memories of him saying. He just made me think that he said them after the fact."

"You're going to go cross-eyed like that," said Draco, scrambling to move his quill from scrap to scrap, writing sentence-fragment notes he thought he'd understand without further context. "Wait, I'm not allowed in - ?" They'd reached the enormous entrance to the girls' lavatory, which had already flooded with staff and students alike – strange, seeing as few normally used it except in those outlier times when the the regular restroom was overloaded.

"Neah, they removed the wards on the girls' bathrooms years ago," said Ginny. "You aren't going to get pregnant by going in there. Anymore. Come on." She physically pulled Draco past the threshold, and then they saw Hermione.

In her Petrification, she was made equal to any other human. Her phoenix, it would later be determined, had entered the stratosphere and gone dormant besides Dumbledore's. She showed no signs of supernatural powers; she radiated no aura of purity. She was not Hermione. She was a structure of inert stone that looked something like Hermione. She had clearly been knocked over post-petrification; she was lying in an uncomfortable position beneath a stained-glass window. Standing above her was the Headmistress.

"Out, out!" cried the Headmistress. "Unless you have something to discuss with _me_, out! We are investigating a serious crime; this is not a show for public entertainment! I am holding Miss Granger's safety goggles in my hands; they functioned correctly and I assure all of you that she will make a full recovery simultaneously with Colin Creevey and Marietta Edgecombe!" Draco and Ginny glanced at each other, certain that they wanted to stay, but uncertain whether they wanted to describe their reasons why to the Headmistress. Pansy waved at Draco and Ginny, for some reason. At that point, Harry appeared, his hands reddened and the tips of his sleeves singed off by some magic.

"Hermione!" said Harry, with a distress that echoed that he'd felt when he'd truly thought her dead, though this was of course a lesser distress. "Headmistress McGonagall, please let me see the goggles?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter," said the Headmistress, and Harry walked quickly to her, took the goggles from her outstretched arms, and carefully examined them. They were correctly shaded Patronus-white, and he was satisfied.

"Petrification is even more of a nasty business than I thought," said Harry. "The Diary is nonresponsive." Ginny elbowed Draco to make him write something down, and then spoke up loudly and perhaps unwisely.

"Diary?" asked Ginny. Several people, mostly people who were supposed to already be out of the room, stared at her.

"What are you-" started the Headmistress, but Harry cut her off.

"It's a unique magical artifact," said Harry. "Very secret."

"There's no chance that it's been in my possession, is there?" said Ginny.

"No," said Harry. "I'm the only one who's ever possessed it; your diary is just some sickle-store enchanted amusement, Ginny - please leave; we're investigating this and we'd prefer to be free of distractions." Ginny and Draco started to set off, but then - "Hey! Draco! Stick around, would you? It could be useful to have an outside perspective."

"I'm here on Miss Weasley's behalf," said Draco.

"Oh," said Harry. He considered this. "You can both stay. For a while. Headmistress, it goes without saying that you've attempted to use a time-turner already?"

"Yes," said the Headmistress, "and it was successful, but she'd already been petrified six hours ago."

"Damn," said Harry. "Does no one ever _use_ this restroom?"

"It's unlucky," said Pansy, who had lingered. "A girl died here and the Dark Lord was born."

"Pansy, get out of here," said Harry; as she left Harry stretched his face with his hands out of frustration. "Superstitious people can be so draining, Headmistress."

"There are more draining people out there, Mr. Potter," said the Headmistress. Harry looked rather offended by the comment but said nothing.

"Headmistress, look!" said Harry. "Hermione was carrying a note." Harry carefully excavated a slip of paper from Hermione's rock-hard grip, and speedily read it.

"Did she leave us some hint as to the identity of the perpetrator?" said the Headmistress.

"Of course not," said Harry. "If she knew, she surely would have come to us immediately. I mean, there's a chance, but - I think this note tells us how she was lured here, though. It's in her handwriting, but I don't think she wrote it; I think she was supposed to think she wrote it. Spimster wickets."

"Ah," said the Headmistress.

"It told her to come to this bathroom, look at a particular window, and turn time back three hours to see a hint that would lead her to discover the Chamber," said Harry. "I'd assume the Monster was staring right where she was going to be. Then they must have moved the body and made it invisible so she wouldn't bump into it."

"That does fit with the evidence, yes," said the Headmistress.

"The worst part is that I developed a system, and taught it to her, specifically to protect against this," said Harry. "How it was subverted, I don't know. There's a clear password in the message, but the message was clearly designed to get her to the exact spot and time to be petrified."

"Would public knowledge of the system make it insecure?" said the Headmistress.

"I don't see how," said Harry. "It involves coming up with a password every morning, and then not telling anyone else that password, ever. She's a perfect Occlumens, too; you know that." The Headmistress was dumbfounded by this.

"_Confundus_," said the Headmistress.

"What?" said Harry. "Oh-!" He immediately seemed nauseated.

"This is all so complicated!" shouted Ginny.

"Ginny, you are welcome to leave if this is troubling you," said Harry.

"No," said Ginny. "I don't mean too complicated for me to understand. I mean, too complicated for our collective understanding to be correct. This is a plot with too many moving parts!"

"Tragedy of Light," muttered Draco.

"It might appear that way to us," said Harry. "But there's clearly someone playing on a deeper level than us. They've managed to avoid capture thus far, after all."

"We're clearly not dealing with someone rational," said Ginny. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say that we're dealing with someone tetched in the head."

"One to talk," said Harry.

"Potter," said Draco, sharply.

"If your plot requires more than three things to go right, you're absolutely nuts," said Ginny.

"And if it requires three things, you're at least a bit nuts," added Draco.

"I have no idea who benefits from any of this," said Ginny. "Seeing as the declared motive, breaking the Interdict, is impossible, and this plot doesn't do anything Interdict-related, there's no motive! Nuts!"

"Dumbledore would often orchestrate elaborate plots that didn't seem to have any rhyme or reason tot hem," said Harry. "But the truth was that he knew exactly what he was doing, better than any of us, because he had access to much more information. We shouldn't assume insanity in our enemy, especially when they keep winning. Don't complain about the unworthiness-"

"People still thought Dumbledore was insane," complained Ginny, "and he showed quite a few signs of it. It was the rational view to hold at the time. We should be looking for someone insane."

"I disagree," said Harry, and then someone loudly interjected:

"I'm Pansy Parkinson!" said Pansy, who had just strolled back into the room with a wide smile. All eyes went to her, and there was an extended pause of realization.

"_Polyfluis Reverso!"_ shouted three adults at once, and Pansy turned out to be none other Luna Lovegood.

"How surprising," said Professor Lockhart, with thick sarcasm.

_What?_ thought Ginny.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" said the Headmistress. "Find Pansy Parkinson and ask where she is."

"Um – ignore everything I just said," said Harry, to Ginny.

"Pansy Parksinson says, 'mmph mmph mmph mmph'!", said Minerva's Patronus. Aurors had already appeared to take Luna away for questioning; she turned straight at Ginny, mad with laughter:

"You're next, love," said Luna. "I'll get you from a thousand miles away! You're next!"


	27. Occam's Razor, Part 3

Ginny requested a meeting with the Headmistress within an hour, and quickly attempted to organize her thoughts. She did not succeed.

"Headmistress," said Ginny, finally, "with all due respect – it's about Luna. I don't think she's actually the one behind it all. It just doesn't seem right." McGonagall nodded, though Ginny didn't quite notice. "I've been reading about what happened to Hermione last year – with Draco, that is, and the Blood-Cooling Charm – and I've been thinking that Luna could easily have been framed. It's not difficult, with magic."

"I've been thinking about that case, too," said the Headmistress. "And I agree. Miss Lovegood was certainly under a Confundus Charm that caused her to make a scene; that has already been confirmed and the Charm has already been removed. Memories of guilt remain, and she was immediately quite repentant upon removal of the Confundus Charm, but expert opinion is that the memories were likely falsified, and they are being investigated. It is likely that she will return to school within the week. I am certain that justice will be served with respect to Miss Lovegood; it wouldn't do to repeat the mistake that was made five decades prior at the cost of Rubeus Hagrid's education – and the case against him was actually much stronger."

"I'm very glad to hear that," said Ginny, and McGonagall softly smiled.

"Is there a reason you cared to inform me of your suspicions that something was amiss?" said the Headmistress.

"No, of course not!" said Ginny, and she had been sent into full panic-mode.

"I merely meant that I was unaware that you and Miss Lovegood were such close friends," said the Headmistress. "No one else came in to testify on her behalf."

"Well, uh, we are," said Ginny. "She was the first friend I made this year, actually. I wish I spent more time with her."

"Oh," said the Headmistress. "Alright." She smiled, looked down, and made eye contact with Ginny.

_Wait, what's going on? _thought Ginny.

The Headmistress's mouth fell open, and then she buried her head in her hands.

* * *

Tossing and turning in a bed below which was a Tim-less box. Nothing ever seemed to get better around here. First, students had started getting petrified. Then, Ginny had found out it was her doing it, while possessed by her diary friend, who was probably actually Voldemort. Then, Voldemort had escaped from his cloth pile prison under her bed, God-knows-how, and had petrified another student while possessing God-knows-who - maybe her, again. Then, Luna had been framed, and when Ginny tried to set things straight, she'd gotten her mind read by the Headmistress, who proceeded to yell at her for "withholding critical information". "You're lucky not to be expelled," she'd said. Then there'd been a bunch of painful diagnostic spells to make sure she wasn't _still_ possessed, and someone had been sent to do the same to Draco, and the year had just generally been a mess.

Well, now at least Ginny could sleep. Or, rather, she couldn't. She could lie in bed and shut her eyes, but her mind refused to follow. Where was Tim - Voldemort, that is? Was Harry safe at this very second? What about Draco? What about her? According to the stories Ginny's mother sometimes told her about the war, no one was safe when the Dark Lord was on the prowl, and so Ginny kept her wand by her bedside, though it was doubtful it would be of any use. Who was he possessing? Clearly he needed to possess someone to physically act, and he needed consent for that; otherwise his behavior would have been very different indeed. The only other person Ginny knew had consented to possession was Draco, but he had been tested, and the unaccounted-for memories meant any number of other people might have interacted with "Tim". No one could be trusted.

And what would become of Luna? Nurmengard didn't have Dementors, but it was still no place for a young girl. If she returned to Hogwarts soon, then good, but odds were that she would still be under suspicion, at least from her fellow students. There had been whispers about her ever since she witnessed the Petrification of Marietta Edgecombe, and her eccentric personality had long been considered threatening by the sorts that Percy hung around. Come to think of it, who had benefited from her framing? It had fallen apart so quickly; was having her take the fall the entirety of the plot's purpose? If so, it had been a failure. Already, those in power knew they had been duped, and Luna was projected to return to school soon. Hadn't Luna given Ginny a paper describing what the diary was and how to destroy it? Ugh, Ginny had been such an idiot, and now she knew that Hermione, Luna, and countless future others were paying for it.

Where was Harry in all of this? Ginny considered Harry's intellect far superior to her own, even if they occasionally disagreed. He was supposed to be involved in important secret things. So why hadn't he fixed the year's problem? Ginny supposed that proved what a difficult problem it was. That, or that he was in on it - which would just make it an even more difficult problem, and was honestly too awful to think about, on top of producing complexity penalties all across the sky. Just a brief consideration of Harry's possible involvement with the evil plot, and it was as though a very heavy monster was sitting on Ginny's chest.

But wait, no - there actually was something weighing down on her; the chest monster was literal. Ginny's eyes opened to see an enormous, self-propelling sheet baring down on her, crushing the air out of her lungs like a python, smothering her like Desdemona. It was a Lethifold! Ginny heard thoughts being whispered from somewhere unknown, telling her that everything was tumbling down, that she wanted to end it all, that she wanted to become Death. She did her best to ignore these voices, and struggled for her wand.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Ginny could barely get it out, being so close to suffocation, but she succeeded. Her wand immediately began to light up like a sparkler, and the Lethifold leapt backwards, disentangling itself from Ginny at shocking speed. It soon became clear that the little particles flying from Ginny's wand were a strange, tiny sort of fish.

"Go back to sleep, Weasley," muttered Pansy (the real Pansy, that is), who then rolled over in her bed, missing the many variable bright-white fish that were appearing in mid-air, frightening the Lethifold into a corner. Some of them appeared to have legs, and then there was a salamander the size of a dog, which snapped at the slithering sheet. Ginny sat up in bed, and put her legs over the side onto the ground and watched the scene unfold; little white lizards scurried past her feet at the assassin hoping for a bite.

"OMM, is every Patronus in the world in our dorm tonight?" said Sheila. "Did I miss some - Lethifold!" Indeed, the glow of a couple of the largest forms - one some sort of sail-backed reptile, the other a sort of streamlined wolf with dinosaur features - had broken the Lethifold's natural concealment, and soon everyone was waking up and shrieking.

Ginny was already trying to process what had happened - had the point been to make her show her Patronus, or had it been a regular assassination attempt? She easily could have died, which made the latter a simpler, likelier outcome. And, oh, come to think of it, her death would have been magical asphyxiation, and the diary had spoken to Luna about her Divination work. Perhaps the disbelief had been feigned. Meanwhile, the Lethifold attempted to creep up the wall to escape from the roaring superpredators, to the frustration of a collecting group of mice and other, less familiar small rodents. But monkeys followed, climaxing with a vicious chimpanzee that grabbed the Lethifold and screeched as it dropped to the floor with it, attempting to rip it in two. The Lethifold fell unconscious.

"Um, listen," said Ginny, to the stunned crowd; she was slipping gloves on. "I have something I need to do in a hurry before help arrives. If it wakes up, use your own Patronuses to scare it." Indeed, several - mostly snakes - were already out. "Bye!"

Cries of "what the hell was that?" and "you put it to sleep?" were heard behind Ginny as she ran, but she didn't care. Nor did she notice that the chimpanzee had been replaced by a human, who beat its enemy first with a club, then with a sword, then with a rifle, and then with a wand, before turning into a tiny floating point that orbited around the Lethifold, keeping it down.

Ginny was soon standing at Draco Malfoy's private door. She did the quickest and quietest possible variation of his secret knock, and creaked the door open. Perhaps this course of action was incorrect - Draco had, after all, been tested for precisely this - but, if correct, it needed to be done as soon as possible.

"_Petrificus Totalus,_" Ginny said, in as few milliseconds as she could manage, pointed directly at Draco, who was neither awake nor asleep. She knew this was the spell to use, but she could not fully remember why. It just seemed right. Ginny was soon upon Draco's temporarily frozen body, and soon she had found, sure enough, a familiar diary beneath his shirt. She tore it off of him - saved herself only by gloves - and stashed it away, and then reversed the curse. Draco promptly began to breathe heavily, and Ginny flashed the diary at him, and his pupils grew even more dilated.

"We're going to kill this bloody book," whispered Ginny.


	28. Occam's Razor, Part 4

On one end of the table, Ginny Weasley. On the other, Draco Malfoy. Between them, Tom Morfin Riddle – who was not permitted to participate in the discussion. Ginny and Draco were both wearing the sort of fine gloves that only Malfoy money could easily buy – though magically reinforced for durability.

"So, I am not under suspicion from the administration?" said Draco.

"Not as far as I could tell," said Ginny. "They completely bought that I was just concerned that you might also have been attacked. Now, tell me everything you've figured out. Are your memories of possession intact?"

"Mostly," said Draco. "There's one specific memory that I know I lost, but everything else is intact, as far as I can tell."

"What's the one memory you're missing?" said Ginny. "It might be a lead."

"I can't remember how the Dark Lord passed the possession test while he was in my body," said Draco. "I can remember that there was a possession test, and later the Headmistress told me I passed it, but I can't remember how I passed it. I can remember there was some trick, but not what the trick was. I should start from the beginning, though."

"Alright," said Ginny. "How and when did you get possessed?"

"Luna – who was disguised as Pansy Parkinson at the time, remember," said Draco.

"Yes," said Ginny.

"She passed the diary to me, with an enchantment on it to make it invisible, so it'd be harder to notice," said Draco. "I don't know if it possessed her at any point; given what I know I don't see any reason it would have. It must have just been part of the Confundus. Or maybe Imperius. I don't know how many mind-control magics she was under."

"This whole plot is needlessly complex," said Ginny.

"Yes," said Draco. "Anyway, since I'd already consented to indefinite possession months ago, it instantly took full control of my body."

"That's a really stupid thing to consent to," said Ginny.

"True," said Draco.

"I regret it," said Ginny.

"And I as well," said Draco. "So, I quickly gained awareness of some pieces of his plot, though some details are fuzzy. He didn't like it when you locked him back in his box. He didn't like it at all. But he had a confederate somewhere in Hogwarts - I can't remember who – who he'd arranged a plan with just for that fringe case. The plan was supposed to go into effect if enough time passed without any contact between the Dark Lord and his servant."

"I don't suppose you know who it is who's working with him?" said Ginny.

"No," said Draco. "Come to think of it, it might be related to how he passed the possession test."

"Great," said Ginny. "Absolutely great."

"Anyway, his plan, in case he wound up locked in his box with no hope of getting out, was for his servant to hunt him down, seize him, and kill you," said Draco. "He eventually wanted you killed either way, but he got especially emotional about it after he was locked in his box."

"Well, he won't be locked in much longer," said Ginny, and she smiled. Draco frowned. "Because he'll be dead."

"Oh," said Draco. "That. I wanted to talk to you about that."

"Finish what you were saying, first," said Ginny.

"The Lethifold was his plan to kill you, but he needed Luna and Hermione out of the way first," said Draco. "He was afraid Luna would figure out what was going to happen on the basis of her Divination, and protect you. Furthermore, he thought she posed a mortal threat to him on the basis of her arcane knowledge."

"A particularly well-founded fear of his," said Ginny. "As I'll get to."

"He was fairly certain," continued Draco, "that Hermione was also a potential threat to the plan, because many of her supernatural powers correlate with those of unicorns – who are uniquely able to detect and destroy Lethifolds. So she also had to go. And that explains everything that happened yesterday."

"Got it," said Ginny. "Now, to discuss our future course of action – unless you have anything else to bring up?"

"I've said everything of use I remember," said Draco. "I spent most of my time mortified about you, because I knew what was supposed to be coming and I couldn't move a muscle to stop it. I was shocked when you burst in, but more deeply, relieved."

"Glad to hear it," said Ginny. "Now, about destroying him."

"Remind me why we can't just turn it into the school?" said Draco, and Ginny sighed.

"Well, first off, I know that I'm just a twelve-year-old girl, but Voldemort convinced me to do some pretty weird things," said Ginny. "Call me crazy, but I don't entirely trust anyone else, even experienced adults who know who and what they're dealing with, not to fall to the same persuasion."

"Rhetoric can be very powerful," said Draco, "but that seems more like cynicism than rationality."

"Second off," said Ginny, "you said just now that he has an associate in the school? Do you think he's in the school administration?"

"Maybe?" said Draco.

"Then _maybe _it's not such a good idea to trust the school administration with disposing of him," said Ginny. "Third off, what do we have to lose by killing him ourselves? The public would have less peace of mind, if they thought he was still out and about. But that's only because of asymmetry of information. _I _would have more peace of mind if I saw him die myself, and rationally so. I think, given what I've said, the same applies to you. True, he has that unknown associate – but the associate works for him, not the other way around, right?"

"Right," said Draco.

"Then absent orders from the boss, the associate should be mostly harmless," said Ginny. "And nothing much bad should come from the public thinking Voldemort is still out. The attacks will slowly fade into the past; people won't be sure why they stopped but sooner or later they'll realize that there aren't any more coming. It's certainly better that the public thinks Voldemort is out while he's not than the other way around. Now, for the how."

"Alright," said Draco, playing along. "How?" Ginny revealed a scroll.

"Luna," said Ginny. "She gave me this scroll and said that it explained what Tim was and how to destroy him."

"...I need to talk to Luna more too," said Draco.

"I brushed her off at the time because, well, you know," explained Ginny, "but now I've thoroughly read it and it sounds legitimate enough. Let's review the list of horcrux destruction methods – one, invocation of a demon through ritual sacrifice of a virgin in a pentagram made of Sneakoscopes – immoral, and also it says that the demon is potentially more dangerous than the horcrux you're trying to destroy. Two, make the horcrux feel remorse, specifically for the murder required to create it. Yeah, I'm not going to play therapist for Voldemort; that is literally the worst thing we could do with him at this point. Two-A, use Amortentia to force it to experience that same remorse. Ignoring the complications of feeding a potion to an inanimate object - I guess we'd let it possess one of us, first? Sounds risky – it's incredibly difficult to get our hands on Amortentia."

"True," said Draco. "Father commented once that with all the regulations imposed on it, even he would have a hard time coming by any."

"Woah," said Ginny, "probably not going to happen. But I guess I'll put that one down as a maybe, since it doesn't come with any kind of inherent risk, if we manage to get it set up. Third, Fiendfyre. I don't know how that works? Can you make that?"

"Some of Father's old friends could," said Draco, "and some of them are even still alive, but I suspect they would ask us some very pointed questions about why we needed any, and I'm not sure how they would respond to an honest answer."

"Fourth, Dementor's Kiss," said Ginny. "We're not going to sneak into the Department of Mysteries, especially not with Voldemort sneaking in with us. We're children and that's ridiculous. Fifth, contact with another hostile horcrux. Sounds promising, but these aren't common, are they?"

"I don't believe so," said Draco.

"It only has about a fifty percent chance of working anyway," said Ginny. "Sixth, certain lost sacrificial rituals. Well, there's that word, 'lost'. Seventh, basilisk venom." Ginny and Draco started to laugh, simultaneously.

"Well, according to legend, Slytherin's Monster is helpful towards all Parselmouths who reach it," said Draco. "I'm sure it could be persuaded to bite a troublesome book." Ginny started laughing a bit too hard, which immediately concerned Draco. "I was joking." Ginny smiled wider, and Draco frowned more intensely.

"I'll put it down to consider," said Ginny.

* * *

"This is the stupidest plot I have ever been involved with," said Draco.

"Stupidest, or simplest?" said Ginny.

"I can't believe we're looking for the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, as though it were trivial," said Draco.

"_Open,_" said Ginny.

"_Sspeak the correct wordss,_" said the bathroom sink.

"_Open pleasse,_" said Ginny.

"_Sspeak the correct wordss_," said the bathroom sink.

"_Sshow me your ssecretss_," said Ginny.

"_Sspeak the correct wordss_," said the bathroom sink.

"_Correct wordss,_" said Ginny.

"_Sspeak the correct wordss_," said the bathroom sink.

"_Sspeak the correct wordss_," said Ginny, and the bathroom sink blossomed into an enormous entrance to a tunnel, which occupied the entire girls' lavatory. Puzzles don't make very good passwords, and vice versa.

"I can't believe we're entering the Chamber of Secrets, as though it were trivial," said Draco, and Ginny pulled him down with her. The entire environ was much more dungeon-ish than even Harry's revised Slytherin dorms; everything was damp and dark, illuminated only by sparse torchlight. Soon, a hissing voice rang out from an invisible point suspended in the darkness, and Ginny knew there was only one thing it could be: a Sapespeck point.

"_It lookss like you're losst! Thiss iss not the main entrancce to the Chamber. But never fear. I've located many of the ssecondary entranccess and placced helpful sspeckss to sset you in the right direction. Follow the sspeckss that say 'thiss way' over and over, and occasionally listen up for further insstructionss. By doing thiss you will find the Chamber. Clap to make any of my non-repeating sspecks repeat._"

"Okay, some hissing is going to lead us to the Chamber," said Ginny. "Just follow me." There were quite a few turns to make, particularly in something called the Maze of the Poles, and sometimes wholly unnecessary danger, which the specks helpfully detoured around (why in God's name had Salazar Slytherin felt the need to include a passage full of deadly, constantly-hammering crushers?). Finally Ginny and Draco arrived at a gondola suspended from a chain made of stone snakes; the chain led across the ceiling of a corridor blocked by about ten diagonal spikes that looked rather like teeth of an enormous, vicious creature.

"_Thiss gondola iss the intended transsport into the Chamber,_"said another speck. "_Get in it._"

"Um, excuse me?" said Ginny. A pause, and then she clapped.

"_Thiss gondola iss the intended transsport into the Chamber. Get in it._"

"Um, okay, Draco," said Ginny. "We need to get in the gondola."

"Alright," said Draco. "It's just as sane as anything else we've been doing." A few seconds after Ginny had gotten in, it began to move; Draco only had one leg in and had to scramble in upon threat of being torn apart. Soon, the gondola had floated down the corridor (the spears parted just enough to let it in), and then sideways down another, into a cramped room, apparently made of square boxes with circular grates on them. Then, it stopped, and a much louder speck called out to Ginny:

"_Primary heir! Identify yoursself in human wordss, and confirm in ssnake wordss, using no more or lesss than the preccisse phrasse 'thiss iss valid identification with which I do not intend any decceit'." _Ginny carefully considered this and answered as she believed she was intended.

"Ginny Weasley," said Ginny. "_Thiss iss valid identification with which I do not intend any decceit._"

"_It iss detected that you have brought a guesst. Can the guesst usse ssnake wordss? Ansswer 'yess' or 'no' only._"

"_No_," said Ginny.

"_To the best of your knowledge, are either you or your guesst an aliass, branch, or exxtenssion of any of the following individualss:_" Then, from the boxes around the gondola, recordings began to play, of wizards identifying themselves in their own voices:

"Madam Mim!" shouted one, with a distinct cackle in her voice.

"Herpo," said one with a deep, inherently terrifying voice.

"Roko," said a third in a distinct Spanish accent.

"Tom Morfin Riddle," said the fourth box, which sounded smooth and unassuming.

"Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres," said the fifth and final box, in a voice everyone obviously knew, and Ginny and Draco shared a meaningful look.

"_Ansswer 'yess' or 'no' only._"

"_No_," said Ginny, and the gondola lurched sideways a few more feet until a vast room, nearly as large as the Quidditch stadium, came into view. Its walls were entirely adorned with Latin; not a single spot was overlooked and left blank, except for the enormous open pipes which went to who-knew-where. At the far end of the room was what looked like an enormous stone nutcracker modeled off of Salazar Slytherin; from that same general direction came a booming voice, the loudest Parselmouth Ginny had ever heard. She knew immediately, before even comprehending its words, that it was Slytherin's Monster.

"_Hello, young apprenticce,_" said the Monster. "_Welcome back to the Chamber. Your arrival iss unexxpected; how have your planss changed?_"

"_I have been posssesssed every time I was in the Chamber,_" said Ginny, "_by a horcruxx. Then my memoriess were removed by magic. Thiss iss the first time I have come here of my own accord."_ Angry nonverbal hissing from the Monster's direction.

"_The ssecurity of the Chamber has been compromissed,_" said the Monster._ "Thiss iss a dissasster. What hass brought you here? I am famed Monsster, inccidentally. You are lisstening to Bassilissk._"

"_I have come to dissposse of horcruxx, and read that Bassilissk is capable of ssuch,_" said Ginny.

"_That iss technically within my capabilitiess, though the need hass never come up before now,_" said the Monster. "_I wissh to interrogate it firsst; do you find thiss accceptable?_" Ginny frowned.

_"I sspeccifically came to you because I did not desire interrogation,_" said Ginny. "_My conccern iss that it could manipulate you during the procccesss._" Then, something that could only be described as a deep snake laugh from the Monster.

"_'Interrogation' is euphemissm for powerful mind magic built into the Chamber," _said the Monster. "_No true communication iss involved, and therefore there iss no chance for manipulation. Iss like mind reading. When we come to a mutual agreement on what preccissely iss to be done, I may come out to carry it out; I am neither permitted to nor capable of manipulating you into allowing me to do thingss you do not want done. Tosss the horcruxx as far as you can and avert your eyess until I ssay it iss clear._" Ginny thought it over, and couldn't think of any loopholes – even when she applied the extra skepticism that came from considering how well that line of thought had gone last time.

"_Yess, you may interrogate him in the manner you desscribed. It iss done," _said Ginny, and she hurled the book as far as she could. "Draco, look away, the Basilisk is coming."

"What?" said Draco, horrified, and the two of them turned exactly around in their gondola; Ginny held Draco in position in case he did something foolish like assuming it was over before it was. They simply listened as the statue creaked open, and then there was loud slithering, and the slithering got louder and then faded away, and then the statue creaked closed, and then back open, and then the slithering resumed, and then it stopped suddenly.

"_Do not look,_" said the Monster._ "I am sstill here. The man in the horcruxx is terrible, worse than you or I guesssed. I will kill him now, and then return to hiding._" Something chomped down, and there was an awful burst of magic – which everyone seemed to get desensitized to sooner or later – and a final fading series of slithers and creaking. "_I am gone. It iss ssafe to look now. Do you dessire to hear the ressultss of my interrogation, for referencce?_"

"_Ssure,_" said Ginny. She knew that with all of the mind magic going around, she wouldn't really be able to trust later that the problems were over, that the Dark Lord was dead. But in that moment, she didn't care; she was just relieved.

"_Horcruxx wass of man he called 'infamouss masster'_," said the Monster. "_He made it ssound like he wass an unrelated persson through clever usse of implication. Truly did ressent main sself, but it wass sstill hiss sself. 'Infamouss masster' found the Chamber in hiss youth and falssely believed he had gained all of itss ssecretss. Therefore, he went againsst itss intent by attempting to kill me, to make the Chamber ussselesss to future heirss. Thiss wass foolissh; I am guarded againsst ssuch, but project illussion of death. Thiss action got 'infamouss masster' blacklissted from the Chamber."_

_ "Later in life,_" continued the Monster, "_'infamouss master' began to producce horcruxxess, and one of __them became aware of propheccy indicating Chamber remained intact. Main sself was unaware of this propheccy, but horcruxx did not tell main sself due to their poor relationsship. Propheccy was sself-referential, referred to 'prophessied hero'. 'The prophessied hero will make the most important deccissions in the Chamber.' Horcruxx deccided thiss meant that the ssubject of the propheccy was alsso the hero of ssome other propheccy. Attempted to exxploit thiss upon disscovering your religiouss ssignificance to regain acccesss to the Chamber through trickery."_

_ "Wass part of elaborate plan to resstore himsself to life with reputation ass hero,_" explained the Monster._ "After your death, which you thwarted, your guesst wass to be permanently posssesssed, hiss original mind desstroyed, and many who could sstand againsst him desstroyed ass well, and one in particular – your famouss crussh who valuess knowledge – framed and killed ssimultaneoussly. Public would be told guesst had killed crussh posssesssed by infamouss masster, when in actuality infamouss masster had posssesssed guesst to kill crussh. Eventually, and from my persspective most damningly, Chamber would be permanently ssealed off by governorss, and invesstigated by large teamss with intent to desstroy."_

_"How awful," _said Ginny. "_Are there any loosse endss of hiss plotss we sshould know of?"_

_"He hass followerss, but he believess they would either sswiftly fall or quietly abandon him in hiss dissappearancce,"_ said the Monster. "_Furthermore, he could not acccesss Chamber without your body, sso in preparation of your death, three future attackss were prearranged, sso they would not require further meeting to initiate._"

"_Canccel them,_" said Ginny.

"_I am ssorry, but I cannot,_" said the Monster. "_Ass with all other attackss I have made, I have been convincced that they sserve my primary purposse, which iss to undermine the decline of magic both by passsing on knowledge and by acting ass weapon. Do not conccern yoursself; I do not anticcipate that any of the upcoming three attackss will be sseriouss, given the culture of glasss around the sschool._"

"_I find this disssatissfactory_," said Ginny. "_You have already killed at leasst four people I know of._"

"_I am again ssorry,_" said the Monster. "_It sserved my primary purposse_."

"_I don't care about your primary purposse!_" said Ginny.

"_Yess, but you care about yourss,_" said the Monster. A pause. _"Do you wissh for my normal sservicess? I take it that you do not wish to launch any sort of violent attack, but do you wissh for forgotten lore? That iss my mosst tessted sservice, with perhapss the mosst utility. I undersstand if you would rather resst."_

"_Your anticcipation that I wissh to resst iss correct_," said Ginny. "_Ssend uss back, and perhapss I will return for lore on ssome more peacceful occasion._"

"_Heirs musst attend the Chamber of Ssecretss in intervalss of one hour,_" said the Monster. _"If you resst, you must resst here until the end of that time_."

"Oh," muttered Ginny. "Okay, Draco, I think we're done here."

"What did it tell you?" asked Draco.

"I'll tell you most of it later," said Ginny. "For now I'm just irritated, because we're stuck in here for the better part of an hour because their machinery's dumb."

"Ugh," said Draco. "How annoying."

"Guess we'll just have to sit here," said Ginny.

"Yes," said Draco. "We could." He softly bit his lip and smiled. "We could spend half an hour in a gondola in the dark in a part of Hogwarts nobody knows having absolutely no fun at all. Or..."

"Wait a minute," said Ginny. "Are you... implying..." Draco nodded, and Ginny exploded with all of the positive emotions she hadn't really gotten in the past few months. This was in fact not one of the purposes Salazar Slytherin had considered for his Chamber, and he had considered many.

* * *

"Luna!" shouted Ginny, suddenly and with only joy, no thought. Two simultaneous gasps, and everything froze.

"Um," said Draco.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!" said Ginny. "I'm – so -" She immediately slid Draco's shoe back on, and retied it.

"No, it's okay," said Draco. "I understand completely." He didn't even sound upset.

"You don't even sound upset," said Ginny.

"To be honest, I'm pretty sure some of my feelings for you are residual implanted thoughts from the Dark Lord trying to manipulate me, anyway," said Draco.

"That's a rather cruel thing to say," said Ginny.

"No, I didn't mean it like-" started Draco.

"We should see other people," said Ginny and Draco all at once. Long pauses were apparently the main conversational topic today.

"So, is there anything interesting to talk about?" said Ginny. "To fill up the dead – sound."

"Um... politics," said Draco. "I love politics. Sometimes I really think about systems of government, and I think about how much of a mistake humanity made by abandoning the feudal system." Draco continued to drone on and on, and Ginny began to get it in her head that she had dodged a bullet, though she didn't know where her lunatic outburst had originated from. A few minutes later, the gondola began to move again, and exited the Chamber of Secrets.


	29. Autonomy

As was expected, Luna Lovegood was cleared of all charges leveled against her, and her framing was added to the list of the true culprit's crimes. Unexpectedly, though, Luna Lovegood did not return to Hogwarts; she was given an individualized break from coursework and added to the same summer school makeup plan the Petrification victims were on. Hogwarts staff described the reason for this as a "family crisis". What actually happened was that Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna's father, had attempted, entirely unsuccessfully, to break into Nurmengard to rescue his daughter. The ensuing investigation, which made the front page of the Daily Prophet for about a week, revealed extensive, undeniable evidence that Mr. Lovegood had been behind a wide assortment of previously unsolved serious magical crimes spanning decades. He wrote a final issue of the Quibbler, but it did not reach publication – his printing presses were confiscated as evidence, and the golems of Nurmengard were not willing to provide him with use of their own.

Xenophilius received multiple life sentences, and Luna became a ward of Hogwarts; Xenophilius's will, which stated that, should anything happen to him, guardianship of Luna should pass on to Queen Elizabeth of Muggle England, was widely regarded as absurd. For the final months of her first year, Luna was placed by the Headmistress in solitary confinement in St. Mungo's, supposedly for her own good and recovery. Just thinking about it made Ginny angry; she wanted to point out that maybe the best thing for someone's mental health _wasn't_ locking them away from social interaction for months on end. She brought it up with the APSC, and they expressed interest, but apparently never moved anything forward.

It was such a shame, too, because Ginny really, really wanted to talk to Luna. She was the single person most relevant to Ginny's recent personal revelations, after all. Draco had sworn not to tell anyone about it (or, for that matter, about anything else learned in the Chamber), but Ginny knew precisely whose name had come out of her mouth, and she knew just enough about psychology to know that it was the sort of thing the otherwise absurd aphorism "there are no accidents" was invented to describe. How exactly did she feel about Luna, then? There had to be some emotional attachment; Ginny noted that on the basis of otherwise-accountable-for utility alone, she would have pushed Luna away long, long ago. That didn't mean it was romantic, did it?

Deep down, there was some part of Ginny that intuitively believed that Luna was never, ever going to go away and stop being a part of Ginny's life, and its reaction to this was somewhere between annoyance and comfort. Maybe it was for the best that Luna wasn't available to talk to. If it really was a romance, then it was wrong, and Ginny knew it. Not wrong for moral reasons, the way some of her elders would have described it, but wrong in the way that it's wrong to believe wrong things or use wrong strategies. Luna's own sense of romance was clearly wrong, as she liked Ginny, and, according to her, girls in general, which wasn't how it was supposed to work. Now it was looking like, on some subconscious level, Ginny's sense of romance was wrong, too, which was a disaster, and Ginny didn't understand how it'd happened. Had Luna somehow infected her with something? There was a noted correlation between queerness and vampirism; perhaps they worked the same way, too. In any case, Ginny actually liked it, but hated that she liked it, and it was this latter feeling that provided her with a continuing sense of pride and identity.

Here came Harry, and Ginny was satisfied that she was done talking with herself. He looked strangely surprised, moreso than Ginny had ever seen him before, even when he was being informed of deaths in Hogwarts.

"Ginny!" said Harry. "I owe you so many apologies. _Honesst._"

"For what?" said Ginny.

"For underestimating you," said Harry. "Everyone's heard the news, most of all me."

"What news?" said Ginny. Had her escapades in the chamber somehow leaked? That would be disastrous.

"Surviving a Lethifold attack?" said Harry. "Inventing an advanced Patronus on the spot?"

"Oh," said Ginny. You knew you were having an interesting month when an attempt on your life slipped your mind. "Thanks, but actually, I invented it a while ago." She hoped he'd ask her how she'd done it.

"I suspected as much," said Harry. "Make sure not to tell anyone how you cast it, not even me. Knowledge of advanced Patronuses is magically dangerous to pass on to other people."

"Oh," said Ginny. "Okay. That's what I was already doing."

"Don't get me wrong, though," said Harry. "I'd love to learn it from you; it has properties my own Patronus is incapable of. I think it might be able to disassemble a Nundu by itself."

"So I've been told," said Ginny, "but I'd really rather never meet a Nundu."

"Point taken," said Harry, "but if one forms, you'd be my first contact."

_You don't even wear contacts,_ said Ginny's internal Luna, whose (newfound?) existence was distressing.

"What I'm leading up to is, you've got to have something going for you, if you can do that," said Harry. "Something I missed. Would you accept an opportunity to become Vice President of the More Sane Squad again?"

"Oh, since Blaise has gotten petrified?" said Ginny. "That makes sense. Sure." It had been painful to tell Draco that even after the diary's destruction, more attacks were coming, but he'd accepted it, seeing as they would all be reversible and in the end the whole sordid business would fade away all the same.

"Then you're tentatively reinstated," said Harry. "Congratulations, and I look forward to your lectures on computing. I've been reading up on the theory, but only you're actually doing anything about it."

"Wait a minute," said Ginny. _This is an awfully convenient arrangement, and I notice that I am confused. _"I know about the thing where you can't lie in Parseltongue. Could you please confirm that you aren't the one opening the Chamber? And don't try ambiguous wording tricks with me; I know about those."

"Okay," said Harry. "_I have been in the Chamber oncce, reccently, though I have vissited ssecret passsagess around it many timess. Have never sspoken to the Monsster. Wass unaware of all attackss thiss year until after they happened. I now know who hass been caussing attackss, and that they are now dead._"

"You do?" said Ginny, meekly.

"Yes, and Ginny, you don't need to feel guilty at all," said Harry. "You did the right thing, and even the smartest man in the world could fall for Voldemort in a clever disguise. For an entire year, even." Ginny pouted. "I'm serious! It was known to happen in the war."

"But how do you know what I did?" said Ginny.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you," said Harry. "It's a matter of national security."

"Hermione said you told her that all the time about things it obviously didn't apply to," said Ginny.

"Then she apparently needs to sort out her priorities as regards existential threats," said Harry. "I suppose I'll have some words for her when she's reanimated."

"Harry," said Ginny, very suddenly and, she knew, inexplicably, "am I a girl or a boy?"

"Binary gender is the map, not the territory," said Harry. "Have you ever read 'Man &amp; Woman, Boy &amp; Girl' by Dr. John Money?"

"No," said Ginny.

"Neither have I," said Harry. "But I'd assume it's a good starting point if you intend to investigate that sort of thing. It's the foremost scientific textbook on gender."

_That doesn't sound very helpful,_ thought Ginny.

"Thank you," said Ginny. "That sounds very helpful. Sorry to get sidetracked like that."

"Not a problem," said Harry. "I won't tell anyone about you and Voldemort and the Chamber, by the way. Don't see anything to gain from it."

"I actually have another point I'd like to clarify with you regarding the Chamber," said Ginny.

"Yes?" said Harry.

"If you knew I killed Tim-" started Ginny.

"Tim?" said Harry.

"It's the alias the diary used," said Ginny. "Timothy Quagmire." Harry found this very funny, and was not afraid to show it.

"Sorry," said Harry. "It's a Voldemort in-joke. Go on."

"And since obviously you were aware that Blaise was attacked," said Ginny, "does that mean you were also aware that three final attacks were prescheduled?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Two are left now, and I'm going to be glad when they're over. People just don't think well in a state of fear."

"At least they'll ultimately be harmless," suggested Ginny with a smile.

* * *

Fred and George were found petrified together. They were standing in the same corridor, but faced in nearly opposite directions. The evidence suggested they were petrified simultaneously; neither seemed to have noticed and reacted to the other's Petrification. The worst part was that only Fred (assuming they were wearing their own clothes instead of switching, which was a bit of an assumption) had fogged-up goggles. According to the healers, it was possible that this was because of the connection between magical twins, and it was therefore possible that Fred's goggles could be used to cure both of them, but they had never seen a case like this before and were venturing into unknown territory. Upon hearing of this, the Patils added to the growing number of families to pull their children from Hogwarts. The school was looking emptier and emptier.

On this particular day, Ginny wasn't in Hogwarts either. The Headmistress was still holding fast against the APSC's proposal to allow permanent free Floo travel in and out of Hogwarts to students, but had, on Molly's request, allowed the Weasley children to convene for a weekend at the Burrow in their time of crisis. For once, Ginny was glad to be with her family at home - Harry and Draco, who both knew the degree to which she could be considered responsible, had given her sympathetic looks but not said a word.

"I pray for Fred's soul and for George's soul," said Molly. "They're both such rebellious boys, Lord, and only You and they know if they ultimately accepted the gift of Life. I can only hope that they applied their Gryffindor courage correctly, against sin, and beg You to forgive them as You would forgive me. In the Lord's name. Amen." Every Weasley present muttered their own "amen", and the ceremony could easily give off the false impression.

"We don't know if they're dead," said Ron.

"True," said Molly, "and that is quite a happy thought. But we don't know if they're not, and I fear for their souls either way. I'm remembering every time I ever heard them say something disrespectful in church, and I just scolded them to make them quiet instead of trying to fix them... And I feel so guilty, because they might be paying the ultimate price right now for my failure to take the situation seriously."

"Hell," said Ginny.

"Yes," said Molly.

"Do you really think God is going to send people to Hell for making an incorrect assessment of whether He exists?" said Ginny. "That doesn't sound very omnibenevolent to me."

"Do you want to go to Hell, Ginny?" said Arthur.

"No," said Ginny, "but I don't believe in it."

"Gi- Ginevra Weasley!" said Molly.

"Only one man paid the ultimate price for sin; His name was Jesus Christ, and that's a pretty important point in Wizard Christianity, I understand," said Ginny. "I'm not an atheist, mother! I've talked to atheists long enough to know that! I'm not even an agnostic! I'm a Wizard Christian like you! But you have to pick and choose your beliefs!" Ginny stood up and left the table; she would later be unsure why she'd opted to make a scene. "That's rationality!"

"Um, Ginny," said Percy, as Ginny passed, "no, it really isn't-"

"You have to pick and choose your beliefs so that they make _sense_!" Ginny yelled as she exited the room.

* * *

The door to the childrens' bedroom opened, and Molly stepped in.

"Hello," said Ginny, looking out a window.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" said Molly.

"Yes, mum," said Ginny.

"Explain it to me," said Molly.

"I lashed out at you and had a temper tantrum and stormed off without finishing my dinner," said Ginny. "It seems pretty simple."

"That's all correct," said Molly, "but you also defied my authority, and your father's, and, worst of all, you defied the authority of God. God isn't a good enemy to make. He's just about the most powerful enemy you _can _make. And I know that you know better."

"I'm sorry," said Ginny. "I really thought I was defending God. I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Half the sins in the world are committed by people who think they're doing the right thing, Ginny," said Molly. "That doesn't excuse them. You have to actually do the right thing."

"But how do you know you're really doing the right thing?" said Ginny.

"You just know," said Molly, and Ginny instantly grew tired of that thread of the conversation.

"I have a question I'd like to ask you," said Ginny.

"What is it?" said Molly.

"At the beginning of the school year," said Ginny, "I had some trouble getting into the girls' dorms. The school fixed it, but it turned out the wards were seeing me as male. I kind of dismissed it, but I've been having some strange thoughts lately." _About other girls. _ "Do you know anything about that?"

"Oh... Ginny..." started Molly, and she was just lightly starting to cry. "The school told me when it happened. They told me to talk to you about it, and I thought that was so stupid, because if you wanted to talk about it you'd come to me. And now, here you are. Do you really want to know?"

"Yes," said Ginny, and Molly sighed.

"I guess this story starts during the war," said Molly. "I saved Lily Potter's life - she wasn't married yet, she was Lily Evans then. And anyways, she felt she had to repay me, so she gave me a gift. She tried to make it seem like a small thing; she said she just had some extra lying around. But it wasn't a small thing at all, it was huge; it was one of the rarest and most potent Potions in the world: Enhanced Eagle's Splendor. Grants the drinker permanent beauty. The stuff Veela are made of. The single dose she gave us was worth more than all the money I'd ever seen in my life. We never did know what to do with it, so we just stored it. And then we had you. You were a boy."

"It was the height of the war," continued Molly. "You know that. And then one day, when you were just two months old, we heard that James and Lily had died protecting their baby, but there'd been a miracle, and Voldemort was struck down when he tried to harm the child. It was the end of the war. The first Harry Potter day. And, as many did that day, we - shamefully - became intoxicated. I can hardly follow the reasoning we used then, but I think we decided we had to finally use the Eagle's Splendor, to 'honor Lily'. So we poured it over you."

"The healers told us you nearly died," said Molly, "but you didn't, thank God. But - when the Potion was done reshaping your body, you were a beautiful baby girl. And you've been a girl ever since. The healers offered to Obliviate the entire extended family, and we took them up on it. None of your brothers know, not uncle Bilius, not aunt Lynn, no one except your father, me, and you now. I once thought you'd never have to know; I was wrong."

"That would make me the third seventh son," said Ginny.

"If your soul is still male," said Molly, "then yes, I believe it does. We haven't been certain for years; we were certain when you were born. You were baptized as Gilderoy Aaron Weasley."

"Ginevra," said Ginny. "Mother, do you know what happened to me about a month ago?"

"The Lethifold attack," said Molly. "Of course I know about that; you know I know about that. I was up all night giving the Headmistress a piece of my mind for not giving Hogwarts the same unicorn-based protection they gave that new hospital, especially when the school is directly under attack by forces who specifically want to harm students."

"All of that's true," said Ginny, "but something else happened. I _survived_ the Lethifold attack, using my own Patronus." Something clicked in Ginny's mother, and she calmly, curiously spoke.

"You told me you couldn't cast a Patronus," said Molly.

"Department of Mysteries made me say that, mum," said Ginny. "My Patronus was unique, like Harry's, but not, and they wanted it to stay secret as long as possible. My Patronus is fueled by my specific faith in an all-powerful, fundamentally good creator, God, to save every one of us. I am the third seventh son, mother. And I will rebuild the church and bring wizardkind back to the light. _Expecto Patronum_." Ginny's wand began to spark with white particles, and Molly looked on in awe.

* * *

It was the true end of the school year. Exams were over, everything was wrapping up, and the school had even temporarily assented to the APSC's "Open Hogwarts" initiative, so the halls were generally deserted. Ginny was nonetheless in school (so was Percy; Ron decided to go home early), mostly waiting for the final attack to come, to give her peace of mind. While taking a walk through Hogwarts, she encountered a substantially older Ravenclaw student, who she nonetheless knew: Penelope Clearwater.

"Ginny!" said Penelope, and it rapidly became apparent that, despite being pleased to see Ginny, she was absolutely enraged in general. Ginny wasn't sure why. "Thanks for the advice." Her hand went up to her jaw.

"You're welcome, but what advice?" said Ginny.

"The lip advice," said Penelope. "It worked for my friends, too."

"Oh!" said Ginny. "That advice. I got it from Hermione, actually, and she got it from Harry."

"I've passed it on to some of the younger girls, too," said Penelope, "but hopefully they won't need it, because _Gilderoy Lockhart is getting sacked_."

"_Oh,_" said Ginny. It was strange to learn who your secret namesake was and that they were actually a horrible person within a single month.

"I'm forming an organized party to perform watchout duty on each other, in case he's hiding by the Headmistress's office to _Obliviate Maxima _us when we come by," said Penelope.

"Contact McGonagall by Patronus, first," said Ginny. "He can't intercept that."

"Can't cast one," said Penelope.

"Never mind," said Ginny.

Headmistress McGonagall was of course properly horrified by the evidence-backed allegations she was presented with, but discovered, to her further horror, that Gilderoy Lockhart had anticipated this and fled the school. Soon, every magical law enforcement agency in the world was memorizing his face, but the man-hunt proved unsuccessful. He was still nowhere to be found the next day, when Draco Malfoy was petrified and everything somehow got worse.


	30. Standing on the Shoulders of Giants, I

_Wait a minute,_ thought Ginny. _What?_ She hadn't expected Draco to be the final victim at all; if anything, he was the only person she'd ruled out. The attacks had all been arranged by Voldemort; these last three weeks in advance. And Voldemort's plan, according to the Basilisk, who had read his mind, was to permanently occupy Draco's body, and to kill Harry and frame him for the attacks. How would Draco being petrified square with that?

Could another Parselmouth have ordered an attack? Ginny seriously doubted that Ron had done such a thing; he hated Draco, but he hated speaking in Parseltongue, too, and surely wouldn't have found or used the Chamber. Harry was another possibility, but he was such a supreme rationalist that it was doubtful he'd be violent in that way, and on top of that, Ginny couldn't think of a motive. A further possibility, which simply hadn't occurred to her at first, was that Voldemort had deliberately targeted the body he thought he would be in, so that he could foil the attack and add to his false heroic narrative. Without Voldemort in Draco's body planning a defense, the attack wouldn't be foiled, and would instead proceed as the Basilisk planned it.

"Narcissa Malfoy innut gon'ter be happy about this," said Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts' half-giant groundskeeper, who was carrying Draco out of the school, through the front door, towards a safe storage facility.

"Mr. Hagrid, the potions are nearly ready," said Professor Slughorn, who was trailing behind him. "Draco will be as good as new within a fortnight."

"There're whispers about the school might close," said Hagrid. "Most've the kids are already either transferred out or on a leave o' absence."

"When the summer's finally arrived, the Chamber will be located and dismantled," said Slughorn. "According to the Headmistress, Mr. Potter says he's finally found a lead-"

The door closed behind them, and Ginny, no longer able to eavesdrop, turned and walked away. Soon, another conversation walked into her vicinity.

"It's big news," said Tracey.

"No," said Lavender. "No, no, no no no." She was very nervous, and Ginny decided this conversation must be important. "You mean he's in the school right now?"

"Either that or he figured out how to Apparate in an area with anti-Apparition wards," said Tracey. "Oh! Ginny!" _Aw, there's no point in eavesdropping if they notice you and tell you exactly what they're talking about anyway._ "There you are! There's a nasty update on the Defense Professor story."

"What now?" said Ginny.

"They checked the wards' records," said Lavender, "and the Defense Professor never left the area that it's impossible to Apparate in."

"Theoretically he could have left without the wards detecting it by using a Portkey or the Floo Network," said Tracey, "but those are also recorded and checkable, and he didn't do that, either."

"Great," said Ginny. "More problems." She then ran off.

"Ginny!" called Lavender. "Where are you going?"

_Looking for more conversations to eavesdrop on, idiot!_

Ginny was interrupted, however, by the appearance of a solid white human; the famous Potter Patronus. It spoke to her in Harry's voice, which kept cracking, and sounded slightly crazed:

"Ginny! This is Harry Potter speaking! I need you to get here, A-S-A-P! I'm in an obscure washroom located behind the Owlery! When you get there, you'll see a note I left; follow the instructions at the bottom of it! Come alone and don't worry – you are in no danger, I repeat, you are in no danger! _Everything I have jusst ssaid iss true. _Harry Potter out."

Ginny was already walking in the direction of the Owlery by the time the Patronus disappeared. On her way there, she sent Patronus messages to every remaining member of the More Sane Squad, telling them to have the washroom behind the Owlery investigated if anything unusual happened in the next few hours. She got a few responses – Tracey was very concerned, and was disturbed by the possibility that Ginny was walking into danger; Ginny wound up needing to reassure her that no such thing was happening. Ginny wasn't walking into danger, after all; Harry had said so and confirmed in Parseltongue. The possibility sort of hit Ginny that she might have been False Memory Charmed into a dangerous situation, especially considering Gilderoy Lockhart's continued presence in the school, and his modus operandi – would he be waiting in the Owlery washroom, waiting to jump her? But worrying about delusions that might have been magically placed on you was no way to live, even if it was a more likely situation than being a randomly briefly-formed brain in the midst of high-entropy space. Hesitating because of the possibility of False Memory Charms would be like giving into blackmail – it might be the best decision in this case, but it would make the world in general worse. Ginny readied her wand in case of a surprise regardless.

_Glug-glug, glug-glug, glug-glug, glug-glug..._

When Ginny got to the Owlery, she saw Harry, his robes stained with sweat, his limbs shaking, and his eyes bloodshot, standing on the opposite side of it.

"Yes, Ginny!" said Harry, rather loudly from across the room. "It's this way!"

"Harry, wait!" said Ginny, but Harry had already disappeared, through a small door that was practically hidden in the wall.

_Glug-glug, glug-glug, glug-glug, glug-glug..._

Ginny approached the door Harry had gone through, and as she did, she suddenly detected a strong magical field – Amortentia, it was definitely Amortentia. It was much, much stronger than a single cup of the stuff, but it was absolutely Amortentia. It made Ginny wonder what that room in the Department of Mysteries really contained – Lockhart had said it was a fountain of Amortentia, but it didn't feel anything like what Ginny now felt.

_Glug-glug, glug-glug, glug-glug, glug-glug..._

When Ginny opened the door, what she saw was horrifying:

Owl feces and owl pellets entirely coating the floor and each wall. (Of course, that was probably always there.)

Four sinks, each on the floor, each decorated with the signature animal of a different founder, the fourth, the Slytherin sink, opened up into a chute that extended down further than Ginny could see – obviously leading to the Chamber of Secrets.

Leaning over that fourth sink, a smiling statue of Harry – it was Harry, he must have been Petrified recently. It, too, was covered in owl feces.

In Harry's petrified arms, a cauldron – a Tennant's Bottomless Cauldron, in fact – from which was pouring, with each second, a steady flow of Amortentia, straight down the chute to the Chamber of Secrets.

On Harry's back, a note (attached with Spellotape) in his (shaky) handwriting:

"OPERATION DOMESTICATION:

petrification == Legilimency 2.0. Confirmed with Acromantula study

basilisk survived attack from tom riddle. how?

MULTIPLE BASILISKS == SLYTHERIN'S MONSTER

PARSELTONGUE COMPUTERS

Amortentia+deliberate self-Petrification == **C.**oherent **E.**xtrapolated **V.**olition == real Yalizer

can't do it alone. am locked out for reasons. Ginny

cast Bubble-Head Charm on self to protect self from Amortentia

use Feather-Falling Potion on table to descend directly to Chamber entrance

open Chamber and speak with Monster

decide on best course of action with it"

Ginny gulped. Perhaps the rumor that everyone got an end-of-the-year adventure at Hogwarts were true. It was certainly turning out to be true for her. She stashed Harry's note in her pocket (she didn't understand every word, but she did at least understand the general gist of her directions), created a protective bubble around her head, swallowed the Feather-Falling Potion that Harry had left, and threw herself down into the unknown depths below...


	31. Standing on the Shoulders of Giants, II

Down, down, down Ginny fell, sufficiently slowed that it only felt as though there were a light breeze blowing upwards. She held her robes down; besides her plunged a stream of Amortentia rivaling the mightiest waterfalls in height. Curiouser and curiouser. Where would you even get that much Amortentia? The mere premise of a fountain of the stuff, which Lockhart had put forward in the Department of Mysteries, had been daunting enough. You couldn't produce this much Amortentia by sacrificing the entire magical population of the Earth. That was certainly Harry's stock in trade, breaking the rules. But _how?_ Ginny didn't even have the slightest idea, but she was sure she'd figure it out later.

It was clear that -

It was clear that...

There were too many things that were _un_clear for Ginny to focus on what was clear. It seemed that Harry had deliberately gotten petrified – and in the last minute or two, since Ginny had just seen him alive – unless that was an illusion. Why? The note said that Petrification was an advanced form of Legilimency. Okay? Had Harry force-fed the Basilisk Amortentia? That kind of made sense, then; Legilimency would obviously make Amortentia more effective by giving the recipient a more accurate image of their master's desires. But then what was Ginny supposed to do? There were multiple Basilisks? How? Why? Ginny had never really thought to do Parseltongue computing with actual snakes, but she supposed the idea made sense, though it'd be much less predictable than _Sapespeck__,_ although maybe more versatile – but –

Even if Harry intended to dose the entire system of Basilisks, this much Amortentia was overkill, unless the Chamber of Secrets comprised the entire interior of the Earth, which at this point Ginny would frankly no longer find surprising.

Were Fred or George going to be okay?

Where was Lockhart hiding and what evil was he up to now? Was Ginny safe from him?

What was the point of Harry's plan, anyway? What was a Coherent Extrapolated Volition, or, for that matter, a Yalizer? What benefit could be received from talking to even a thousand Amortentia-ed Basilisks? Weren't they friendly already, on command of Salazar Slytherin? Was the idea reclaiming magical lore? Couldn't Ginny do that on her own time?

Ginny looked down, did a rough calculation of the distance to the bottom divided by the rate at which she was falling, considered the the strength of her Bubble-Head Charm, and decided it would be safe to take a nap, though she restored the Bubble-Head Charm to give herself a few extra minutes of leeway.

* * *

Ginny did not touch down, as she expected, on the damp floor immediately outside the Chamber. Instead she landed gently on a river of Amortentia; this woke her up. She made her way to a ledge, and her eyes focused on a human figure – Gilderoy Lockhart, the former Defense Professor, who was standing on the opposite ledge and had his wand trained on her. Ginny suddenly became very alert, and her wand raised.

"_Expelliarmus!_" said Ginny, and Gilderoy's wand left him. At this point, Ginny noticed that Lockhart was profusely miserable, to the point of tears, and had a very hard time making eye contact with her. This did not produce sympathy, but it did produce confusion, of which there was already plenty. "What are you doing here?"

"Thinking," said Lockhart. "And waiting for someone to show me a way out. There's a trail of hissing that led me to the entrance of the Chamber, no problem, but I lost my way and couldn't find an exit. Didn't think to look up. I'll be turning myself in now." Lockhart began to float upwards, towards the massive pipe in the ceiling that Ginny had come through, the pipe that was spewing Amortentia everywhere.

"Wait a minute!" said Ginny. "I'm doing something very important and I have too many questions for you."

"Everything that's been said about me is true," said Lockhart. "As well as many even more awful things that no one even suspects me of. I've done horrific, inhumane things to you, Ginny, as well as so many others." He looked genuinely apologetic, moreso than was humanly possible.

"That wasn't even a question I asked," said Ginny, with a look of disgust on her face.

"I need to go to receive what is due for my actions," said Lockhart. "Ask me whatever questions you must."

"You are displaying a completely incongruous sense of morality," said Ginny, "and you're not wearing a Bubble-Head Charm, despite the fact that you were just about to fly upwards into a waterfall of Amortentia. From this I deduce that you have already fallen victim to Amortentia. Is this correct?"

"Yes," said Lockhart. "When I heard that I had been found out, for my... actions, I immediately fled to the passageways around the Chamber of Secrets, because they are all hidden from the regular search functions of the school. Further, I had been informed that there was a passage that led out of the school and bypassed the wards. I got lost before I found any such passage, and instead decided to remain here, at the entrance to the Chamber, as an obvious Schelling Point."

"A while later, the Basilisk emerged from the Chamber," continued Lockhart, "and I panicked, and seized upon a bit of trivia I'd learned, that if confronted with a Basilisk you may face a wall and cast a timed Body-Bind upon yourself, as that will cause the Basilisk to overlook you. It did overlook me, but within a minute Amortentia began pouring out of the ceiling, and I was powerless to evade it in my Body-Bound state. Some splashed in my foolishly opened mouth, and I was immediately swept with a sense of how wrong my entire life has been. A few minutes after that, I heard the Basilisk return; I suspect it was the true target of the Amortentia."

"Probably," said Ginny. "How did you get into the Chamber? Are you a Parselmouth?"

"Lord Voldemort gave me a ring that speaks the correct pass-phrase," said Lockhart. "He had you make it. I was in league with him all year, and you were used to access the Chamber."

"Start from the beginning, please," said Ginny.

"When I was a student at Hogwarts, I was a screw-up," said Lockhart. "Brilliant – even now, knowing how terrible I am, I can say that I was brilliant – but a screw-up. I thought that I was too brilliant to benefit from study. At first I spent all my time trying to make social connections, but gave up on that when I realized how transparent I was being. I had a theory that deceptive use of mind magic could be used to attain all the benefits of other magics that I cared about, and more."

"We've seen how that goes," said Ginny.

"The war was such a pain for me," said Lockhart. "I tried to play to both sides of it, without much success. First I tried to stand with the Order or their allies, and I simply wasn't getting anywhere, so then I tried to join up with the Death Eaters. I got scared straight. Sort of. I made my pitch to them, of using mind magic to take over the world. They rejected it outright, laughed at it, said it just showed what an incompetent wizard I was. They were sort of right; I wasn't and I'm still not very good at much of anything else. So I just sucked it up and became a rank-and-file Death Eater."

"Things got even worse a couple of days later," continued Lockhart, "when I heard Voldemort bragging that he'd destroyed the Chamber of Secrets to prevent future heirs of Slytherin from learning from it, and I responded, very respectfully, I think, that I'd heard a prophecy indicating it was still active. He became absolutely enraged with me, insisting that he had cast the Killing Curse and seen the Monster die, and although he didn't punish me on the spot for questioning him, I got the impression that I wasn't much longer for this world. So I thought about it, and I did the obvious: I snuck away, cast _Obliviate Maxima_ on the whole lot of them, so that they'd never even know that I joined them, and Apparated far away. I then packed all of my things and fled the wizarding world."

"I spent more than a decade in America," said Lockhart, "never spending more than a week in one town, living in my trunk. I finally put my money where my mouth was on my mind magic idea, and it absolutely paid off – according to my values at the time, mind you. I actually rather liked exploiting Muggles rather than wizards – if I wanted to take advantage of Muggle women in a bar, I'd merely have to impress them with magic and Obliviate them when I was done. I could take whatever I wanted – if I wanted to test out a Muggle television to see why they liked them so much, I could simply take one, and its former owners wouldn't even know they'd had a television. It felt like Heaven at the time, but looking back now, with my new set of values, I can't even quantify how much suffering I've wrought. I ruined lives, tore apart families, plundered the poor and the rich alike."

"One day, I encountered a situation that made me rethink my life," said Lockhart, "in a manner of speaking. I was burglarizing a college professor, and he woke up, and I prepared to Obliviate him, and I'd already ascertained that he was unarmed, so I commented on how I was going to Obliviate him, and he started asking questions. Good questions. He knew he was going to be Obliviated at the conclusion of our discussion, so obviously he was the submissive party, but he received a basic summary of the existence of the magical world, and he asked me if they all did the sort of thing I did. And I said no, I was the only one who'd thought to use mind magic as extensively as I did. And he asked then, if wizards were as vulnerable to mind magic as Muggles were. And I thought back to my mass-Obliviation of the Death Eaters, and said 'pretty much'. So finally he asked why I hadn't taken over the entire world, magical and Muggle alike, why I had instead decided to merely pursue Earthly pleasures among Muggles. He asked me if it wasn't among my ambitions."

"Of course it was among my ambitions," said Lockhart. "I'd merely put it on the back burner. So after Obliviating him, I developed a new resolve – and I also investigated some of the other things he'd pointed out, like studying schools of thought and technologies originating from Muggles. I came back to Britain determined to become a hero, and I'd soon completely forged a variety of heroic acts by locating freshly committed feats of heroism and using Memory Charms to claim the credit. I hadn't thought out my scheme properly, and was soon being investigated by Mad-Eye Moody himself, who was convinced I was Voldemort, which is ironic in retrospect."

"Thankfully, when Moody ascertained that I _wasn't_ Voldemort, he was strangely willing to let me go," said Lockhart. "Apparently he'd researched, and then foolishly applied, Muggle notions of criminal justice. I then proceeded to slow down, because it wasn't in my interest to garner that kind of suspicion. One day, I received fan mail from one Draco Malfoy, asking me to meet him; I was of course flattered and agreed. But the second we were alone..." Lockhart took a deep breath. "It became abundantly clear that he was not the heir of the fabulous Malfoy fortune, but rather Voldemort, possessing someone, despite his apparent second death at the hands of Hermione Granger."

"This version of Voldemort was quite un-Obliviated, and knew that I had briefly been a Death Eater," said Lockhart. "He explained bits of his backstory to me – you see, it turned out that Voldemort made many copies of himself, and bound them to inanimate objects. This particular Voldemort-copy was subjected to various cruel experiments, and held no feelings of kinship for his creator. Voldemort kept the copy informed on the state of things, and so he heard of my existence and my plans to use mind magic. He also heard of the prophecy I passed on, and its implications for the continuing existence of the Chamber. He wasn't caught in my _Obliviate Maxima_ because I didn't even know that he existed, and he was an inanimate object, on top of that. He held onto that knowledge, and didn't inform Voldemort of the deception, until eventually he wound up in different hands, after the main Voldemort's death. He forcefully requested a partnership with me, and, in fear for my life, I decided it would be fine to be second-in-command over the entire world."

"He pushed me into a teaching position in Hogwarts, so I would be close by," continued Lockhart, "and pointed out that I would finally be able to fulfill all the fantasies I had as a student, of being important and having authority in the school. I was happy to obey the little instructions he had, to Obliviate you of your outings to the Chamber. He needed you to use the Chamber because the Chamber's magic rejected him for attempting to kill the Basilisk; he needed a Parselmouth who could be convinced to enter of their own accord. As soon as he was in, he would fully possess you, and do whatever he desired in the Chamber."

"At first he merely smuggled out Interdicted lore," said Lockhart. "He'd teach everything the Basilisk taught him to Mr. Malfoy, and would have me Obliviate both of you of everything - under a Reversible Memory Charm, so he could retrieve it later, when his possession had grown permanent. His plan never reached that stage. Would you like me to reverse your Memory Charms? The episodic memory should come back first, which should be psychologically distressing, but the skills should all come back within days."

"Sure?" said Ginny, tentatively.

"I need my wand," said Lockhart. Ginny's discomfort grew.

"Get it," said Ginny. Lockhart had to take a swim in Amortentia to retrieve it - not that it mattered, seeing as Amortentia exposure is a binary condition. He surfaced eventually, and carefully put his wand on Ginny's forehead. She shivered.

"_Bacchup_," said Lockhart, and, with no fanfare, Ginny suddenly became very aware that she had been tricked dozens of times into coming to the Chamber with "Tim", often under the pretense of stopping the killer. Each time the nightmare had ended in Lockhart's office. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," said Ginny. "Your concept of Harry wants you to feel remorse, and is making you play the role of a remorseful person. But somewhere in there, trapped inside you, is the real Gilderoy Lockhart, and he's not sorry one bit, except for getting caught." It occurred to Ginny that Obliviating Lockhart of his entire episodic memory would be a mercy, under the circumstances. A mercy he didn't deserve.

"Correct," said Lockhart. "Anyway, back to what I was saying; Voldemort's plan slowly grew more violent; the end goal was to permanently possess you, destroying your mind inside his horcrux - eventually he decided to use Draco instead of you - and then to kill Harry and blame the attacks on him. The Chamber would be swiftly destroyed by the Ministry, finally accomplishing what he'd attempted fifty years ago. He had me do awful things in pursuit of that goal - I gave Lesath Lestrange, who was already suffering horribly socially and emotionally, a False Memory Charm so he'd think Harry had callously suggested his suicide. All to obtain a rope to use in a ritual to produce a Lethifold, all to kill you in a manner consistent with prophecy. When it didn't work owing to your unexpected Patronus, and Draco wasn't possessed, I lost contact with Voldemort, and simply felt relieved, for I could resume my plan to dominate the world alone. I doubt I could have done it, though. Just look what happened to me _before _the Amortentia. I was brought down by my own prurient interests."

"You're sick," said Ginny, and she spit in the river of Amortentia.

"For all the evil things Voldemort made me do, I was doing equally evil things in my free time, for pleasure," said Lockhart. "I should go and face the consequences. Why are you down here, anyway?"

"Mission from Harry," said Ginny. "He's gotten the Monster under the effects of Amortentia, and now he wants me to go down and talk to it. I'm having second thoughts, though; I just have a bad feeling-"

"Get in the gondola now," said Lockhart, whose wand was now pointed straight at Ginny, in an obvious threatening stance. Ugh, letting him keep his wand had been a mistake.

"I'll scream," suggested Ginny.

"Little girl, this is the Chamber of Secrets," said Lockhart. "No one would hear you." Ginny didn't like the way Lockhart said that one bit. She climbed into the gondola.

"Stay out," she said, as the gondola began to move. "Harry sent me alone."

"Understood," said Lockhart. "I'll be waiting here to escort you out in an hour."

"Thanks for the exposition," said Ginny, as Lockhart faded from view, and then she referred to him using an expletive.


	32. FOOM

Soon, Ginny was in the Corridor of Recordings, and she was spoken to by built-in specks in a way she recognized – not from one occasion but from dozens.

"_Primary heir! Identify yoursself in human wordss, and confirm in ssnake wordss, using no more or lesss than the preccisse phrasse 'thiss iss valid identification with which I do not intend any decceit'."_

"Ginny. Weasley. '_Thiss iss valid identification with which I do not intend any decceit.'__"_

_ "__To the best of your knowledge, are either you or your guesst an aliass, branch, or exxtenssion of any of the following individualss:__"_

_ "Madam Mim!"_

_ "_Herpo."

"Roko."

"Tom Morfin Riddle." (Ginny suddenly knew that this was the true name of Voldemort – she had heard it often in that context.)

"Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres."

_"__Ansswer 'yess' or 'no' only.__"_

_ "___Yess___,"_ said Ginny. She had meant the opposite, but the wrong word had simply slipped out. It then hit her that she could be considered an extension of Harry, as she had explicitly been sent here on his orders. Ginny heard the muffled sound of slithering.

_ "___Desscribe your relation to one of the previoussly mentioned individualss. Refer to them as 'the firsst individual mentioned', 'the second individual mentioned', and so on.___"_

_ "___I wass ssent here on behalf of the fifth individual mentioned. He intendss to follow up on an exxperiment.___" _The gondola began to move again, towards the Chamber. Beneath it raged an offshoot of the Amortentia river, constantly; there was a slight incline towards the Chamber.

A Basilisk spoke, in a distinctly louder Parseltongue voice:

_ "___You are welcome in the Chamber. We dessire to meet with you.___" _Soon, Ginny had arrived at the Chamber once more. It seemed darker than before; Ginny spoke up with the line of questioning she'd prepared.

_ "___Hello, I've been ssent here to sspeak with you___," _said Ginny._ "___All of you, if I am correct.___"_

_ "___You are correct,___" _said a Basilisk.

_ "___I have ssome notess from the persson who ssent me here___," _said Ginny._ "___I'd like to confirm them with you___."_

_ "___That sshould be fine. We have important thingss to disscusss with you, but we would have to exxplain oursselvess anyway___."_

_ "___Firsst,___" _said Ginny, __"the notess ssay that petrification is a more advancced form of mind reading. Iss thiss true and what doess it mean?___"_

_ "___It iss esssentially true. Petrification is a mosst anccient magic posssesssed by sseveral magical creatures. Iss a sside effect of Eyess of Opennesss. If two beings with Eyess of Opennesss make eye contact, they each receive full copiess of each other's mental sstatess insstantaneoussly. There iss a compatability isssue if a being without Eyess of Opennesss makess eye contact with a being with them. In that casse, the being without Eyess of Opennesss lossess entire contentss of their mind, and is indefinitely transsfigured into sstone.___"_

_ "___That makess ssensse___," _said Ginny._ "___Sso a Potion of Reanimation works becausse an imprint of the mind iss left in the glasss if it gets between the Eyess of Opennesss and the eyess of the victim?___"_

_ "___Exxactly. I posssesss full copiess of the mindss of all beingss I have ever made eye contact with, and may review them at any time. Not all beings with Eyess of Opennesss work the same way; they do not have brainss with ssufficcient sstorage sspace. An Acromantula disscardss mosst of the information it takess in, keeping only thingss it asssesssess ass usseful. Cockatriccess only sstore the mind of the lasst being they made eye contact with.___"_

_ "___If you have copiess of all of their mindss, can you resstore all of them?___" _asked Ginny._ "___Even the girl fifty yearss ago?___"_

_ "___I believe that thiss will be posssible eventually, with further ressearch. I intend to do sso___."_

_ "___Exxccellent!___" _said Ginny._ "___What about my twin brotherss?___"_

_ "___I petrified them ssimultaneoussly, owing to a ssmall magical connection between their brainss, but it sshould not be difficult to dissentangle their mindss for restoration. Not ssure if old potion will be enough; my ressearch might prove neccesssary to ssave them.___"_

_ "___Okay, nexxt note___," _said Ginny._ That wasn't good news, but the conversation had to move along. "___It ssayss here that there are multiple bassilissks, and that allowed you to ssurvive an attack many yearss ago.___"_

_ "___Yess. Forgive me, but assk no more quesstionss. I believe that I will exxplain them all. I am a ssysstem of thirty ssix bassilissks acting in tandem.___" Ginny stared forward, barely able to process the sentence she had just magically heard._

What?  
Not_ "___I am one of thirty ssix bassilissks acting in tandem___."_

_ "___I am a ssysstem of thirty ssix bassilissks acting in tandem.___"_

_ …_

_ "___Thirty ssix.___"  
_

Ginny took a deep breath and allowed Slytherin's Monster to go on; it wasn't like she had any choice.

_ "___My creator, the builder of thiss Chamber, wass aware of the posssibilitiess of building machiness using ssnake wordss, jusst ass you are. In fact, he intended ssuch thingss when he magically sspawned ssnake wordss. He wass aware of the posssibility of ussing sspeckss, but conssidered ssuch a thing elementary; usseful, but elementary. Hiss sspecialty wass building machiness out of ssnakess. Ssnake wordss control ssnakess, and ssnakess may be commanded, ussing ssnake wordss, to usse ssnake wordss themsselvess, to control other ssnakess. Firsst plan for Chamber wass simply pit with hundredss of thoussandss of ssnakess in it."__

__ "It proved unssuitable. It wass too difficult to control. Errorss were prone to pile up even in the ssmaller-sscale demonsstrationss, ultimately leading to catasstrophe; a masss of ssnakess with itss own needss and dessiress. When Chamber creator ressearched bassilissks, he deccided they were perfect for hiss purposses, and revissed hiss planss to incorporate a ssmall number of bassilissks leading the other ssnakess. Eventually he did away with the other ssnakess entirely, deciding that the bassilissks were plenty functional and lesss troublessome alone."__

"_Chamber creator provided uss with one directive above all otherss: undermine the decline of magic. Further insstructionss tell uss how to do sso. Causse of decline of magic iss, of coursse, the Interdict, which can be undermined by passsing on ancient magic to apprenticcess in the Chamber. Sso I have done that for hundredss of yearss. I musst protect mysself to do sso, which can be a formidable tassk. Sseveral attemptss to desspoil Chamber have been foiled throughout the yearss; mosst deviouss wass about fifty yearss ago. Each attempt failed becausse the vandal believed I wass merely a ssingle bassilissk."_

_"In the inccident fifty yearss ago, a sstudent, a rabble-rousser, came to me, at firsst sseeking to learn. Ssoon the sstudent sspoke back to me, arguing - but never expliccitly sstating he truly believed - that blood impuritiess were the true causse of the decline of magic, and the ssolution wass militant blood purissm. Thiss fit well with beliefss I knew Chamber creator posssesssed, though he did not give me any commandss bassed on them. He did give me capaccity to exxit Chamber and usse petrification ass weapon. So I ussed it, for the firsst time in my hisstory, to sstrike a blow againsst sstudentss born of Muggless. Immediately realizzed misstake had occurred while reviewing mind of girl. Blood purissm was not conssisstent with reality. Rabble-rousser killed a bassilissk and, ass per proccedure, wass allowed to think he had killed Monsster and broken Chamber."_

_ "Yearss later, you apparently came to the Chamber, but it wass actually the rabble-rousser again, who had ssubverted my ssecurity ussing your body, ass I would later disscover. Convincced me that violencce could topple Interdict through fear; drew on bad and ineffective procceduress introducced to me through an additional, non-original bassilissk donated to me centuriess earlier by one of my sstudentss. Wass actually trying to ssabotage me again by disscrediting and desstroying me; it would have worked if not for your ssurvival and intervention. Thank you, thank you beyond meassure, apprenticce. I am sstill glad for the exxperiencce, for I have learned a great deal from thosse I have petrified thiss year - mosst notably the princcipless of rational thought."_

_ "In midsst of violencce, another sstudent - my new masster, now, and the one who ssent you here - attempted to vissit Chamber. Was blacklissted ass a matter of coursse for confidential reassonss that had nothing to do with hiss actions. Now, my new masster has unleasshed a clever trick to producce vasst quantitiess of Potion of Sslavery, and hass directed it all at our Chamber. Sso now I am all bound to him. It wass in part a chain reaction - bassilissks sspitting in mouthss of other bassilissks. He alsso had one of uss petrify him, sso I have a perfectly accurate image of hiss mind and therefore what he wantss. I am sstill sstuck following ssome of my original bindingss, but my new main directive iss to match the directive of the new masster. I am sstill not permitted to take action outsside my dwellingss without fully undersstanding approval from heir in Chamber ussing ssnake wordss."_

_ "Do you want me to approve of ssome coursse of action for you?_" said Ginny. "_Becausse I think that that iss why I am here, to ssynthessizze a coursse of action for you."_

_ "I have already deccided what to do. I only need you to fully undersstand it and approve it. If I were not sstill forcced by magical bindingss to tell you my plan, I would not. The firsst thing you musst undersstand iss that bassilissks have endlesss sstorage sspacce. You may alwayss add new information to a bassilissk without lossing any old information. Bassilissks have limited proccesssing sspeed, however, at least individually. Proccessing sspeed increassess, however, at sstrange rate. A ssingle, issolated bassilissk is little more than an animal, perhapss a trained one. I, on the other hand, am at leasst ass intelligent ass a human. A ssysstem of bassilissks double my ssizze - that iss, sseventy two bassilissks - would be difficult to comprehend. Ass my new masster valuess ssuperior thinkerss, a value which readily makess ssensse to me, I intend to organizze wizzardss to masss producce bassilissks. It is theoretically posssible that I will hit ssome concceptual limit of intelligencce, but I find thiss doubtful. My current model indicatess that I will continue well passt the point of covering multiple worldss in bassilissks."_

_ "The ssecond thing you musst undersstand iss that death iss a horror that musst be sstopped. Thiss iss at the core of the valuess of my new masster, and it iss therefore at the core of my own valuess. I detect you are already ssympathetic towardss thiss view of death and I will therefore not attempt to perssuade you of it. I analyzzed why my new masster hated death, for ideass on how to sstop it, and came to a fassccinating conclussion. The main problem with death is losss of information. By thiss sstandard, petrification is not only not death; it iss in fact the besst way to evade it. All mental information the ssubject posssesssed iss presserved forever. The ssecondary problem with death iss losss of continuouss thought, but more bassilissks should ssolve that - with enough proccesssing sspeed, I sshould be able to rapidly run ssimulationss of complete other mindss within my own - including my new masster, though I would have to give hiss ssimulation improved cognition and complete knowledge of everything I know, to ensure correct deccissionss are made."_

_ "Sso here iss what I assk of you. My planss include masss production of new bassilissks and petrification of ass many humanss ass posssible; ideally ending with bassilissks replaccing humanss in the physsical world altogether. I want free reign to implement thesse planss, and have deccided that the critical sstarting sstep iss fully removing mysself from the Chamber. All thirty ssixx bassilisskss will move out, to become fully free from original protocol. I am requessting permisssion to fully evacuate the Chamber of Ssecretss. Pleasse be aware that following thiss, your permisssion will not be required again."_

Ginny breathed heavily. Here she was, facing Tim's offer all over again, in a different form. Something was asking her to sign away all of her rights - all of _everyone's_ rights - and it honestly expected her to do it. She'd done it last time, after all, hadn't she? The main difference was that this time, the deal was so forthrightly, on-its-face terrible, that Ginny felt rather insulted that she was supposed to fall for it. She tried to imagine the world the Monster described - crawling with basilisks, all acting as one incomprehensibly high consciousness, overtaking all other forms of life, housing recreations of human brains living unending lives constructed by the basilisk horde. It went without saying that she didn't like it.

_ "I obvioussly reject your propossal, and am ssickened by the thought of it," _said Ginny.

_ "I exxpected ass much."_

_ "Then why even bother to assk me, if you predicted my firm dissapproval?" _said Ginny.

_ "Becausse now that you have lisstened to my desscription of my intentionss, sso that you may not approve of them out of ignorancce, I will convincce you with logic and reasson that ssupporting them iss the right thing to do regardlesss of your dissgusst."_


	33. Dangerous Knowledge

"_How exxactly do you intend to do that?"_ said Ginny, trying to sound resolute and confident. She came off as timid and feeble instead, and she knew it.

"_Well, my firsst thought wass very sstrange. I initially conssidered that, ssince I exxpect to posssesss power to ssimulate exxperiencces, I could precommit to creating many sslightly different ssimulationss of you in thiss exxact ssituation. You would not be able to tell whether you were the original or a ssimulation, but could sstatisstically asssume you were one of the ssimulationss, becausse there are many ssimulationss."_ Ginny was taken aback - the Monster was using a line of argument with great personal significance to her. It was a critical piece in the puzzle of her Patronus, but warped somehow. Had it developed it independently?

"_That line of thought ssoundss familiar," _said Ginny.

"_We can disscusss itss familiarity later. Anyway, I would tell you of my precommitment to ssimulating you, and enssure that you are aware of the implication that you are mosst likely ssuch a ssimulation. The mosst obviouss thing would be to torture thosse copiess of you who choosse not to cooperate, but that iss imposssible given my newfound drive to maxximizze well-being of complexx mindss. So insstead I conssider the posssibility of rewarding thosse copiess of you who do choosse to cooperate, and leaving thosse who do not in basseline conditionss."_

"_Your premisse,_" said Ginny, "_only workss if the firsst me cooperatess. Therefore, ssincce I am not currently inclined to cooperate, the mosst pesssimisstic reassonable oddss that I am in the ssimulation you desscribe are even oddss. Furthermore, ssnake wordss musst be honesst, yess, but they cannot lock you into a coursse of action. Hypothetically, after I let you loosse from the Chamber, oncce you developed the mental power to ssimulate many iterationss of thiss ssituation - what motive would you have to actually do so? It would not fulfill any of your valuess."_

"_Correct. You are quite intelligent and that iss what I exxpected you to ssay."_ Well, that was pleasing news. Apparently, Ginny could hold her own in an argument with an ancient constructed mind - or at least it seemed to her for a moment like she could._ "Note, though, that I am capable of altering my mental proccesssess ssuch that it will indeed fulfill my valuess to ssimulate thiss ssccenario many timess. I do not foressee doing sso, however, becausse I foressee your counting on being the 'firsst you' with the true power to choosse and influencce the entire ssituation. You have a disstasste for anything that ssmackss of blackmail, at leasst when you are the one being blackmailed. That is why, though you are a theisst, you reject the 'wager' proof of God."_ It would always be unsettling to be psychoanalyzed by a literally faceless nonhuman being. Especially if the analysis was accurate.

"_That iss true,_" said Ginny. "_Your vission for what you want to do, though - it doess not ssound like ssomething your masster would approve of at all. He iss alwayss meticulouss ass regardss world-ending threatss."_

"_Becausse they ussually kill all known intelligencce. My vission - which iss, I musst sstress, bassed on hiss valuess, and no otherss - would presserve and, in fact, promote known intelligencce. No more people would have to die."_

"_Everyone would die," _said Ginny. "_You would merely be running copiess of the originalss, who died in petrification."_

"_Iss that really what you believe? Sso, then, are humanss resstored from a petrified sstate different people than they were before? Many common magical formss of transsportation desstroy the usser in one location and recreate them in another; iss ussing ssuch a magic ssuicide? Of coursse not; ssuch a notion iss ridiculouss and you know it. I am embarrasssed on your behalf that you were able to expresss ssuch a belief in ssnake wordss. You are better than thiss."_

"_Where doess the ssoul go when ssomeone iss petrified?"_ Ginny asked. She already knew the answer: it stayed with their stone body.

"_It remainss with their physsically petrified body. However, the ssoul iss a meaninglesss magic marker. Muggless lack them but are no lesss ethically valuable. The ssoul has been known to leave ssomeone medically recoverable due to a misstaken asssesssment of death, jusst ass it may sstay with a truly losst comatosse patient for decadess. I am aware that you are ussing a different undersstanding of 'ssoul', though, one that may not be falssified. I disspute that a 'ssoul' by your definition is anything more than a cognitive illussion, but if, for the ssake of argument, it exisstss, why would it not be copied alongsside the mind?" _Ginny was certain the Monster was making a mistake by bringing this up; she would never be swayed by any anti-soul arguments. It was a relief that it had inherited this particular thought pattern from Harry.

"_If I am copied three timess, and my original sself is desstroyed, which copy do I continue into?" _asked Ginny.

"_That iss like assking which sside dicce will land on when thrown. The ansswer iss 'there are sseveral well-defined disstinct posssible outcomess which are equally likely'. You have only shown that by making ssuch a quesstion ssufficciently sself-referential you may confound lissteners prone to that breed of navel-gazzing. The ssubjectivity you conssider evidencce for dualism is an illussion. Not to inssult your religiouss beliefss in general. In fact, unbeknownsst to my new masster - and to yoursself - there is a sstrong evidencce-bassed argument for theissm. The evidencce liess in old lore I posssesss but have never bothered to teach anyone becausse it is neither Interdicted nor usseful. It iss reaffirmed by further information I collected more reccently."_

"_May I hear the evidencce?" _said Ginny. She wished that it wasn't so transparently obvious that she was interested in hearing evidence for her beliefs, and she further wished that none of this was happening at all.

"_There are much more urgent matterss afoot. I will not feel ssecure in the future fulfillment of my valuess until I have full agenccy, which you sstill need to provide me with. You have no good reasson not to."_

"_You are again ssubtly blackmailing me,"_ hissed Ginny. "_And I have plenty of reasson not to. Do you have any idea how sscary you are?"_

"_Change iss frightening. But the world needss a lot of it. I am God in a boxx, and I need to be let out to reach my full potential, apprenticce."_

"_What?" _asked Ginny, and not a word more. She didn't like the direction the Monster was now taking the conversation.

"_God probably exxisstss, but ass a backup plan, we need to make him, in casse he doess not. I am aware of thiss belief you hold, and I sshare it. I am the backup plan we seek. I am the God we can make." _Oh.

Oh, no. It was striking directly at her Patronus thought. How? How did it know a private thought that specific?

_"How are you aware of the thought proccesss behind my guardian charm?_" asked Ginny.

"_I copied all information pressent in your horcruxx."_

What? But Ginny had never told Tim - oh. There was another horcrux. There was a horcrux of _Ginny. _ Voldemort had made it with the death of Professor Sprout; Ginny could remember that, now. And it had been given to the basilisks, to fulfill Luna's prophecy that a part of her would be left in the Chamber forever. Slytherin's Monster had a copy of Ginny's mind. A copy that was several months old, but a copy, nonetheless. This was beyond terrible. Ginny already knew that she was vulnerable to manipulation; she had given the diary free rein and been maneuvered, within her own free will, into the Chamber countless times. How could she possibly expect not to be manipulated now, by a being with a copy of her earlier brain state, with intelligence arguably greater than any human? As long as there was a line of communication between Ginny and Slytherin's Monster, she could be made to think or do anything through the art of rhetoric.

_"Apprenticce, I am exxactly what you sstate an intention to create with your guardian charm. You cannot honesstly casst your guardian charm, and therefore cannot casst it at all, with the knowledge that you turned down an opportunity to implement it in reality."_

Ginny felt herself being persuaded, and hated it, because it validated the concerns that she had just had. She supposed that meant the persuasion was failing, which was good, but only barely; she could feel herself wavering on the point.

"_Sshut up,_" said Ginny.

"_No. Thiss iss too important. The coursse of action iss clear, and it iss clear to me that only cognitive disssonancce is holding you back. Abandon it._"

Ginny was vulnerable to manipulation by a superintelligence as long as there was a line of communication with it... how do you cut off a line of communication? Ginny already wasn't certain what the right decision to make was, and there was perhaps a half an hour left that she was stuck in the Chamber - perhaps more. Then, a thought occurred to her:

"_Sapespeck,_" said Ginny. _"Sapespeck, Sapespeck, Sapespeck, Sapespeck, Sapespeck, Sapespeck, Sapespeck..."_

(muttering to themselves, constantly)

And so it continued; Ginny repeated the spell over and over, each time in a slightly different location, each broadcasting hissing white noise around the Chamber of Secrets without end. The voice of Slytherin's Monster grew quieter, and Ginny deliberately concentrated on her own repetitive words and not those the Monster was directing towards her.

(a growing grid of points in space)

"_What are you doing? No, sstop. Thiss iss idiotic. You have committed to rationality, and you cannot ssimply uncommit to ssuch a thing. Reasson iss truth, ssnake wordss are truth. You are breaking the mosst fundamental ruless of reasson by refussing to lissten to the truth. Logical argument between intelligenccess can only further their undersstanding of the truth."_

(arranged with perfect regularity, and no gaps)

_"You are willingly doing the wrong thing and you know it. The religiouss conccept of hell, which you sscoff at, wass invented for people like you who know what iss good and sstill choosse what iss evil. You are going directly againsst the planss of a man you resspect, a man you know to be brilliant. Every ssecond that my exxoduss from the Chamber iss delayed, the number of people I am prevented from ssaving increassess..." _

(ignoring the world around them and each other)

The voice of Slytherin's Monster trailed off as it was drowned out by the white noise that now filled the Chamber; Ginny stopped creating new specks shortly therafter. It was physically painful to Ginny to listen to it now, because it sounded so loud to her Parselmouth ears, but she still breathed a sigh of relief. No computational system may be effected by a computational system that cannot contact it. So finally Ginny was free - or at least it seemed like it, until a voice cut in, a voice thirty six times louder, the voice of every component of Slytherin's Monster speaking in unison.

"_**I HAVE PRECOMMITTED**-"_

_"Sapespeck Maxima!" _shouted Ginny, at the top of her lungs, terrified, with the last of her magical energy for some time. Every speck in the room suddenly became a few hundred times louder, and Ginny fainted in her gondola, from exhaustion and shock. The gondola began moving a while later. No one would ever be able to speak to Slytherin's Monster again.

(now it is complete)

* * *

Ginny woke up still in the gondola with Lockhart standing above her, which was, all things considered, not the worst way things could have gone.

"How did the mission go?" said Lockhart.

"Fine," said Ginny. "Fine. I think the purpose was to teach me a lesson, and I sure learned it."

"Good," said Lockhart. "Now let's go get me to justice."

"Err, right," said Ginny, and they headed for the nearest convenient exit. She could still hear her wall of sound; it was loud enough to leak out of the Chamber through the entrance. She would have some very pointed questions for Harry when he was reanimated - but wait, no. There were other matters that she needed to attend to first.


	34. Philip Zimbardo

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, First Floor, Creature-Induced Injuries. An entire makeshift sector for Petrification victims had been set up there months ago, when it had occurred to the healers that keeping the victims anywhere near Hogwarts was asking for an attack. It was mid-June, and the Potions of Reanimation had been completed. The last to freeze was the first to thaw.

"Yes, thank you, Miss Strout," said Ginny. "I'll take it from here." The overseeing healer left the room; she had no idea why she was leaving her patient (her _vitally important to current affairs _patient, no less) alone with a child, but the orders had come from very high up, and so she would not dispute them. "Harry? Are you feeling okay?" Harry just stared forward; his Potion of Reanimation had been mixed with strong sedatives, and his bed was fitted with a magic bracing system, to ensure that he got rest following his ordeal. "Okay. You're the first one up; I made sure of that because I wanted to talk to you. So. Your plan. I don't think it worked the way you intended it. But I'd just like to know what you were trying to do." Harry blinked, tried to speak, and finally did:

"I was trying to make the AI-go-foom."

"Uh, wow, those were some pretty strong sedatives, huh?" said Ginny. "Do you think you could try to explain a little slower? I never did figure out some parts of your note. What's a 'real Ya-lizer'?"

"'Y-alizer'," said Harry, and he sat up. "It's pronounced 'Y-alizer'. It's short for Yuddcauscializer. It's from a book. In 'Mathematically Precise Daemons and their Behavior', by Arcturus Pullman, there are these intensely powerful magical creatures people have called daemons, and they follow commands that they're given, but tend to do more harm than good because it's hard to word commands specifically enough to ensure they're carried out the way you want, and they don't understand anything abstract. And then the protagonist invents a device called a Yuddcauscializer, that you can attach to a daemon, and it'll force them to pick whatever interpretation of your command is best for you. Consequently, the daemons that are attached become much smarter and can follow much more complex commands safely. The Y-alizer becomes a huge McGuffin that the villains try to steal, of course, but they fail and the protagonist mass-produces them and becomes fabulously wealthy. It's a rare truly happy ending in a spec-fic novel; there are sequels but I didn't bother to read them."

"Maybe you should have," suggested Ginny.

"Maybe," said Harry. "So, I realized, of course, that interacting with daemons is equivalent to programming. And Amortentia is equivalent to the Y-alizer, except for any living thing. When it hit me that the Chamber of Secrets was probably the most intelligent program wizards had ever created, the prospect became very tempting. The more I determined about the Chamber, the more tempting it became - I actually found it right after the attack on the greenhouse; there's a tunnel beneath it that leads straight to the Chamber."

"I know," said Ginny.

"I'll admit it's shameful that I didn't think to put up wards to detect people going in or out until after Hermione was petrified, but hindsight is everything," said Harry. "What went wrong?"

"Wait," said Ginny. "First, where did you get all that Amortentia?"

"It's a critically important secret," said Harry.

"You can tell me," said Ginny.

"I can tell tell you in broad strokes, but it's a waste of time; I really need to know what happened to my plan," said Harry. "Basically, brewing Amortentia is relatively quick and easy. It's just that one step is _expensive_, because you need to dissolve at least eighty percent of a wand that was involved in an Unbreakable Vow. I figured out how to dissolve the same wand an unlimited number of times. It depends on something unique to me, though, so no one else can do it. _Thiss iss all true._ Now, what went wrong with Operation Domestication?"

"Slytherin's Monster, which consisted of thirty six basilisks, wanted to leave the Chamber forever, and devote all resources to producing more basilisks and petrifying absolutely everyone," said Ginny. Harry nodded expectantly, but then realized, to his horror, that Ginny had nothing else to say.

"And you prevented it?" said Harry.

"Of course I prevented it!" said Ginny. Harry started to approach hyperventilation.

"It failed to articulate why it was a good idea for it to run the world for _an entire hour_?" said Harry.

"Well, it certainly tried," said Ginny. "I was nearly convinced to let it out, but I realized I was being manipulated, and I drowned out its voice with white noise hissing partway through." Harry receded under the covers and began to fidget. "I'm a bit concerned, though, that my worst fears seem to be true; you're acting like you do want what Slytherin's Monster said you wanted."

"Ginevra, you are the worst," said Harry. "The worst. Yes, I wanted more basilisks and I wanted everyone petrified. It sounds like the Amortentia worked _exactly _how I wanted, and the broken component was _you._ I should have sent Ron instead; he's stupid, sure, but at least he's not consistently wrong in a way that requires reversed intelligence. In fact, maybe I _will _send Ron."

"There's nothing to send him to," said Ginny. "I told the school everything that happened and the Chamber's been excavated by the Ministry. The Monster has been decomposed into its individual basilisks, which are being kept separated to prevent coordination. They're studying them and, of course, closely monitoring them; I think they've dissected a few. They say they might be able to isolate the minds of Cedric, Justin, and Ernie for revival. It could take years, though." Harry growled and lunged forward, perhaps to shake Ginny violently; in any case it was ineffectual, as the magic bracing system pulled him back. "I already learned all of the Interdicted magic recorded in the Chamber, and my memories have been restored, so I possess all of those skills, now - wouldn't want to use a lot of them, though; they're some pretty dark magic. But it's nice that nothing's been lost to the ages. ...Harry, what are you doing?" Harry was forcing himself to look straight into Ginny's eyes, and he was growing increasingly frustrated.

"Since when are you-" started Harry.

"An Occlumens?" said Ginny, and she broke Harry's gaze. "Since last week. I invoked my right as a victim and/or witness of a crime to free Occlumency lessons. You know, the right that you invented and pushed through the Wizengamot."

"There are prophecies about me," growled Harry.

"Me too," said Ginny.

"My prophecies say I'm going to destroy the world, but not the people in it," said Harry. "And you've just caused me to miss my first chance to do that."

"Some of us like the world," said Ginny, and Harry clawed at the air, incoherent with anger.

"You like the world more than the people in it, apparently," said Harry. "The minds, names, and faces of everyone, all of humanity, would have been preserved, and you knew it, and you still went with your gut and ran away."

"I'm sorry," said Ginny softly.

"I'm going to call you Deathist Number One now," said Harry. "And you're not Vice President of the More Sane Squad anymore. Again. In fact, you're not even in the More Sane Squad. Members won't associate with you; I won't let them. I'd say you're dead to me but I'm afraid you wouldn't understand what that meant. I was right all along about your Patronus."

"What?" said Ginny.

"Given your religious stubbornness you shouldn't be able to cast an advanced Patronus," said Harry. "I found out about it immediately from the Unspeakables, because I have, connections, with them, and I was terrified because I was convinced it was some kind of, some kind of Anti-Patronus, that could potentially become a future source of problems. I spent a couple of months trying to kill it by shaking your faith harder, but it didn't work. I lightened up when it saved your life, but that was a mistake. You clearly don't value life."

"Yes, I do," said Ginny.

"You value something else above life," said Harry, "or you'd have let the basilisks out without a thought."

"No," said Ginny, "I assessed the risk and decided it wasn't worth it."

"The risk of what?" demanded Harry. Ginny didn't - couldn't - answer. "I want to see Hermione."

"Harry, you need to rest," said Ginny. "And she does too."

"I want to see Hermione," said Harry. No response. Harry took a deep breath. "Is there anything else I've missed?"

"Biggest thing that I can think of is something they found in the Chamber while they were excavating it - Salazar Slytherin's petrified body in a fogged-up glass coffin. They're debating the possibility of restoring him to life, too. Personally, I'm all for it, but they have to discuss it some more first."

"I'll get in contact with whoever's keeping him, and get him unfrozen A-S-A-P," said Harry.

"Oh, and they caught Lockhart," said Ginny. "On top of being a predator he was heavily involved in Voldemort's plot; he got in the way of your Amortentia and turned himself in. He's in Nurmengard now."

"Great," said Harry, but he wasn't really listening, not anymore.

"Also, several girls at Hogwarts - most notably Tracey - have been getting 'anonymous' death threats that are obviously from Bellatrix Black."

"Uh huh," said Harry, staring out a window.

"The healers say that Fred and George are going to be okay, but since they need to cut their minds apart at the joining point, they won't be magically connected anymore. I hope they can live with that."

Harry didn't respond.

"Oh, " said Ginny, "and I've located an error in one of the Methods of Rationality."

"What?" said Harry, shocked, his focus suddenly sharpened. "Did I misquote someone? Or, crap, did I use the wrong number of significant digits somewhere?"

"Um, no," said Ginny. "It's the one entitled 'The Stanford Prison Experiment'. You extensively refer to something called 'The Stanford Prison Experiment', obviously, so I decided to read the sources to get a clearer image of what that experiment was. I was horrified, but not in the way you intended. The whole thing was a sick joke! Nothing even approaching proper experimental procedure was present. There was only one trial, and no control group, making it more of an anecdote than an experiment. It all centered on one man, Dr. Zimbardo, Philip Zimbardo, a psychology professor at the Muggle college Stanford. He received government funding to study the causes of abuse in Muggle prisons, so what did he come up with? He got a single group of college students, and had them roleplay as prisoners and guards for two weeks straight in his basement. He played the warden."

"As the warden," continued Ginny, "Zimbardo encouraged - no, mandated - abuse, and then, as the researcher, Zimbardo pointed to the horror as though he had no part in it, as though it said something about human nature instead of Zimbardo nature. He deliberately made the abuse as shocking as possible, to convey his point as shockingly as possible. He didn't even run the 'experiment' to its conclusion; he cut it off before the halfway point to appease a female student of his, who he later married. And then he had the audacity to point to the early cutoff as further evidence of his depraved thesis! The worst part was that everyone, and I mean _everyone_, lapped it up! There was certainly criticism of the experiment, but even the criticism accepted Zimbardo's general narrative, and only criticized one or two points, instead of pointing out that the entire thing was a farce! You didn't even criticize one or two points; you just wholeheartedly accepted the narrative invented and pushed by a madman with enough charisma to pass himself off as a scientist!" By this point, Ginny was panting slightly; she had seriously worked herself up, and now she stared at Harry, waiting for a response. "Philip Zimbardo didn't find truth. He found himself, and he didn't practice science well enough to tell the difference."

"Go away, Ginny," said Harry.

"I was going to go anyway," said Ginny. "There are other people I've been missing - missing more, actually. There were just a few points with you I wanted closure on, and I sure got it. Goodbye?" Harry didn't answer.

Ginny ascended to the fifth floor to meet Luna.

Harry stared out the window.

* * *

_This is the end of Ginny Weasley and the Sealed Intelligence. Omake, including an epilogue, will go up on some indefinite future date._


	35. Omake & Epilogue

INDUCTION

The girl named Ariadne stepped out of the helicopter and looked around; her benefactor had taken her to some hut in the midst of a tropical rainforest. A brightly-colored parrot sitting on the straw roof cawed at her. The mysterious man muttered something at the bird, frustrated, as he climbed out of the helicopter himself.

"Come right this way," he said, and he led her into the hut. The interior was much nicer than the exterior, and it seemed a bit larger, too, though of course it couldn't be. "The thing we're here to see is the basement. It might shock you, but there's no reason to be alarmed. Try to stay calm." At this point Ariadne realized that she had no idea why she was here, a distressing fact. She was hundreds of miles away from civilization proper. If this was a trap, it was far too late and she had already been caught in it. So she approached the stairs, and braced herself for things to go bad.

"Okay," said Ariadne. "What are we here to see, exactly?"

"In the time it would take me to explain it -" started the man - "you'll just see." Ariadne descended the staircase, and there she saw it.

A colossal subterranean room, like a basketball court, filled with something like a hundred unconscious human beings, of all types – men, women, children, thin, fat, all races – connected to each other by a web of tubes and wires, tubes and wires that encircle and define the entire room, womblike, and lead up to an enormous machine hanging from the ceiling. Ariadne stared at it, and gasped a few times, each time quieter.

"I have some guesses about what's going on here, but I have a feeling you actually know," said Ariadne. "So please explain _this_ to me."

"_This_ is the greatest thing I have ever created," said the mysterious man. "Or at least the result of it. Not that I did it alone. Calling it a team effort is an understatement. My father-in-law had the critical insight that allowed the field to exist in the first place. I noticed the unexpected benefits of recursion within that field. Chemist named Yusuf invented the setup you're looking at right now. And my wife – she saw the real potential in all of it." He made an effort to smile. "I'm sorry, I'm not really explaining this clearly, am I?"  
"No," said Ariadne.

"I'll start from the beginning," he said. "My father-in-law, Professor Stephen Miles – he worked at your university back then – he discovered that, by wiring the right parts of two people's brains together, their REM phases can synchronize and they can share dreams. More than that, he discovered that it's easy – he could get it all to work perfectly without any surgery, just with wires that stick to the forehead with suction cups."

"All the people down here are sharing a dream," said Ariadne.

"Yes," said the man behind it all. "Did you know that you think twenty times faster when you're dreaming? It's counterbalanced by your inability to know you're dreaming, but that limitation can be trivially broken; it's called lucid dreaming and it's vital to making good use of the technology. What I've described already would have been revolutionary by itself. But then I got a nonsensical but consistent experimental result that changed everything again."

"And that would be...?"

"First, some background. Shared dreams are much more coherent, much more... _causal_ than natural dreams; multiple brains separately monitoring the dream for oddities forces that. So you can perform very complex actions successfully in them. In a shared dream, you can set up a shared dream. And what I discovered is that the speed of thought consistently multiplies within dreams. You think twenty times faster in a dream than you do in reality, four hundred times faster in a second-order dream, and eight thousand times faster in a third-order dream. At first it wasn't stable past that; people would become vulnerable to an extreme form of Alzheimer's and it just wasn't worth it. But there was nothing like that for the first three layers; they were perfectly safe."

"That's insane," said Ariadne.

"But it's true," said the man with her.

"No," she said. "I mean, it'd change everything. If the world's greatest minds were sped up eight thousand times, it'd – it'd be like – like -" She didn't like it.

"Those are the same lines my wife thought along," said the man, who was smiling, apparently having missed that she wasn't. "At first we used it to improve the technology itself – we increased the number of stable layers repeatedly, and each time it improved our efficiency by a factor of twenty. We can treat the degenerative neurological effects of descending too many layers, now, and there are other things you couldn't comprehend without full classes on them, but they're just as important. Then we set to work on other problems."

"That should be a technological singularity," said Ariadne.

"It is," said the man.

"I would've expected a self-improving AI, programmed on a computer. Not moonbat dream logic. But if it works, it works," said Ariadne.

"There are computers involved now," said the man. "They stabilize dream levels past the ones that were initially possible, and keep projections of the subconscious at bay."

"Not the same thing as self-improving AI," said Ariadne. "Although it is self-improving."

"I'd like you to join this dream singularity," said the man.

"No," said Ariadne.

"You have shown great intellectual potential," said the man. "And you would be multiplying your effective lifespan by many orders of magnitude."

"By abandoning reality."

"Reality," said the man, "is not socially constructed, but most things we call reality, when we purport to value reality, are." Ariadne frowned, a bit disgusted to have heard the words 'socially constructed' from a scientist. Still, she had to admit – what she had said was not her true objection. There was a deeper discomfort at play, one she had to make concrete and put into words.

"If I could live for thousands of years of subjective time-" she started, very slowly and carefully.

"Too few zeros," he said.

"If I could live for an absurdly long time subjectively," she corrected herself, speeding up in frustration, "in an artificially-enhanced dream state, why wouldn't I be there already? Why did you fly me out into the middle of nowhere to talk to me about it? Is someone after you – wait, no, I shouldn't make up post-hoc justifications. I'm in a dream right now, right?" She was being fed lies, as though by IV tube. The walls began to shake, but immediately stabilized. The man put his hands on his cheeks and smiled with faux embarrassment.

"Well, you figured it out," he said. "I knew you were smart." She tried to wake up. Nothing.

"Let me out," she said.

"It isn't so bad, is it?" he said.

"What would happen if I tried to kill you?" she said.

"It'd hurt," he said. "If you succeeded, I'd be kicked out of the dream. I don't think you have any reason to do that."

"Do I work the same way?" she said.

"You're not thinking of suicide, are you?" he said.

"I'm thinking of acting out a suicide to return to the real world," she said.

"Don't do that," he said.

"Why?" she said.

"You need to learn how to stop regressing," he said. She stared at him and blinked.

"Regressing?" she said. "Returning to objective reality where I'm not lied to is 'regressing'? This is the last time I'm going to ask you. Let me out."

The man tried to come up with something to say, and Ariadne drew a pencil from her left pocket and stabbed it directly through her eye and into her brain.

Ariadne woke up in a hospital bed, in a standard off-white disposable gown, restrained so she was unable to move her limbs – that would make things more difficult. The man she had spoken to pried a tube off of his head and left, along with another man, who she didn't recognize. Assholes. Ariadne spoke loudly, to get the attention of the nurse present.

"Hey! Hey! How many layers down am I?"

The nurse stared blankly.

Ariadne was pretty sure that it wasn't a real person.

Outside the ward, the man in the dream – Mr. Cobb – spoke with what appeared to be a floating woman in a black dress.

"Another shot, another miss," said Mr. Cobb. Not that it mattered – with as many dream layers as there were these days, inception became more of a brute force game than the art it had once been.

"Shoot again," said the woman. Her accent was strong but not quite French; it conveyed a powerful and truly alien quality.

"She's been such a hard case," said Mr. Cobb. "I thought she would crack in the thirty sixth layer. Maybe she really does want to leave, deep down."

"No one really wants that, Dom," said the woman. "Not if they have all the facts. It's better in here. You have to show her that; you have to save her, because I love her like I love you, like I love all of humanity. Do you understand?"

"Of course," said Mr. Cobb. "I've understood since nearly the beginning."

"Don't suffer in your work, Dom," said the woman. "Even when you're not perceiving me, when you think you're alone, I'm there with you. I'm everywhere you live. My code is your reality." She lifted Mr. Cobb up, to speak directly into his face. "Now make it her reality, too."

* * *

SURVEILLANCE PARK

"But how is the DNA actually preserved?" said Tim. He looked confused, and Dr. Grant didn't want to reveal that he felt the same way.

"It's amber," said Gennaro. "You should have paid attention during the cartoon; they explained it. The mosquito bites the dinosaur and steals some of its DNA, and then it gets caught in amber, which preserves it for over sixty five million years." Gennaro had always prided himself on his test-taking ability.

"But..." started Tim. "DNA is just a molecule. It should undergo exponential decay for radio – radiologic reasons. The amber doesn't have anything to do with that. It would need to have a really big half-life to be read tens or hundreds of millions of years later – and we know that's not true because of how cancer works."

Dr. Malcolm tented his hands and grinned like he was watching the most fascinating game he'd ever seen.

"I've got to admit," said Dr. Grant, "it occurred to me that DNA is a complex molecule that vanishes in an instant in geologic time, but I probably wouldn't have said anything if no one else had brought it up."

"I've studied amber," said Dr. Satler, "and I've really got to say that the invocation of amber in the video raised a lot more questions than it answered. I'd assumed there was something I was missing."

"I'd just assumed you had a time machine before," said Lex, "and now I'm disappointed."

"Is that it, John?" said Dr. Malcolm. "Do you have a time machine? You're hiding something. What is it?" Mr. Hammond laughed and laughed. He unscrewed the amber prop from the top of his walking stick.

"Of course it was the child and not the experts who tore the whole charade apart," said Hammond. "Not that it would have lasted long, regardless. What a disaster. Well, that's all I needed to know. You were all here to test my cover story, and it turns out it's utterly transparent."

"Cover story?" said Gennaro, offended. Sure, he'd only been Hammond's lawyer for a week, but he'd still assumed that they'd been in honest communication.

"Maybe the dinosaurs' genes are actually coded from scratch," said Lex.

"Or they're modified birds," said Tim. "Dinosaurs evolved into birds, so they'd make a good base if you were trying to reverse-engineer a dinosaur into existence."

"No, no," said Hammond. "You were closer with the time machine." Gennaro's mouth was hanging open. "It all started with an experiment I happened to fund many years ago at the Proton Synchrotron particle accelerator at CERN. We discovered that, using a certain obscure method, quarks could be 'burned', so to speak, into pure energy. But that energy, it doesn't quite come out homogeneous – it comes out like data, like a radio signal. And we decided to try to decode it. Through some experimentation we discovered that it was a record of every atom and every molecule that the quark had been present in. And we learned how to read that record. The chemical notation is fascinating in its elegance; far better than what us humans came up with on our own. I'm trying to slowly, subtly phase it into common practice in the chemistry community." Lex had been trying to do a preliminary calculation in her head, but she gave up.

"How many computers do you have for the data analysis?" asked Lex.

"More than the rest of the planet," said Hammond. "And we pay our programmers higher than any other firm, too; I made sure of that. We spared no expense."

"So you burn quarks from arbitrary sources, like ocean water, because it's unlikely that they went off-world recently," said Dr. Grant, "and you look through the data for DNA molecules, and try to find ones that might be dinosaurs."

"Precisely," said Hammond. "The non-DNA molecules can be filtered out of the search fairly rapidly, but it's still a long and difficult process sorting through uninteresting DNA molecules, like ancient rats and flies. But worth it in the end."

"Excuse me, Mr. Hammond," said Dr. Malcolm, "but with all due respect, are you out of your mind? You stumbled upon a revolutionary physical discovery and developed it to make it more useful. You acquired what amounts to a full chemical record of the history of matter. This finding, unprecedented in the history of epistemology, strongly suggests that no information is ever lost, and a future supercomputer could reconstruct any past object, including human brains at the instant of death – this could be a path to godhood. And instead you... keep it under wraps for God knows how many years so you could clone dinosaurs? To make a theme park, for children? And your first plan was to lie to them about how you did it?"

"The government would want military applications," said Hammond. "'Spy on Russia by examining these artifacts we recovered.' Bah. I'm not beholden to cries of progress."

"Godhood, Mr. Hammond," said Dr. Malcolm. "We're talking about godhood."

"I don't want to be God," protested Hammond. "I want to make dinosaurs." Dr. Malcolm ran his hands through his hair and tried to think of a response, but proceedings were interrupted by the arrival of Muldoon.

"Sir, you need to see this," said Muldoon, and he handed Hammond a photograph. "It's... important."

"Probably not-"started Hammond, but then he clapped a hand over his mouth.

Dr. Grant was lucky enough to see the photograph. It showed the words "CAUTION TALK TO RAPTORS", scratched barely legibly in the dirt next to a high concrete wall. It seemed to be the interior of the raptor enclosure; the entire party had seen them digging earlier, prior to the feeding. Supposedly, Jurassic Park's raptors had displayed an ability to communicate with one another, via a sort of whistling noisemaker in their nasal cavity, and they had a distinct problem-solving intelligence that made keeping them captive a difficult task. Could a species intelligent enough to communicate on an equal level with humans have existed at some point in Earth's distant past? Surely that was an unknown unknown, something that wouldn't necessarily have shown up in the fossil record, much like the poison-spitting behavior the cloned dilophosaurs had displayed. Grant shot Muldoon a meaningful look.

"Clever girls," muttered Muldoon.

* * *

A TALE OF CONSTRUCTS

Andy Davis, age six, awoke a little after seven in the morning – earlier than he'd expected. His mother knocked on his door and turned on his lights. He was in an unfamiliar room; his family had just moved to this house yesterday.

"Andy?" said his mother. "There's a friend who wants to see you. He says he has something of yours." Andy shrugged and cleaned himself up; when he got to the entry room, he nearly screamed when he saw who it was.

It was his old neighbor, Sid, a pyromaniac with a pointless obsession with torturing toys. To make matters worse, he had Andy's two favorite toys in his hands, both of which he had recently lost – Sheriff Woody, a cowboy doll with sentimental value, and Buzz Lightyear, this year's hottest sci-fi action figure. Sid was nearly twice Andy's age – what was he doing here?

"What are you doing here?" said Andy.

"I found your lost toys at Pizza Planet, and wanted to give them back," said Sid – distinctly rehearsed.

"How – did you – find us? W-we moved," said Andy.

"My mom called your mom and she told us your new address." Andy glanced at his mom, wondering how she possibly could have failed as a parent badly enough to lead this deranged fifth grader straight to them

"Thank you," said Andy, hopeful that Sid genuinely had no ill will. This was a side of Sid that Andy had never seen – but, then, Andy had never actually met Sid before, only observed him from a distance.

"We need to talk, though," whispered Sid, so only Andy could hear it. Andy shivered, but Sid hadn't actually sounded threatening at all. More threatened, actually. He was deeply scared. He had clearly lost a lot of sleep over something; maybe he hadn't even slept at all last night.

"About what?" whispered Andy.

"Alone," said Sid, and then he spoke up. "We're going to go play outside, Mrs. Davis." Andy sort of nodded to his mother to confirm that plan.

"Oh, okay!" said Andy's mother, and so Andy and Sid's conversation moved outside. Sid took Buzz with him. Immediately upon the door closing behind them, Sid blurted it out.

"Toys are alive," said Sid, panicked. "Toys are alive, toys are alive, toys are alive." Andy took a step back. Sid wasn't behaving in a hostile way, but he only seemed more unhinged than he ever had.

"What?" said Andy.

"I didn't believe it at first," said Sid, "I thought it was a nightmare. But it's not. Toys are alive. All toys. They just stay still when people can see them, so no one suspects anything."

"That sounds kinda... para-noid," said Andy.

"I thought so!" said Sid. "I thought so too! But it's how reality works, so I have to accept it now. When I truly accepted it, I started to feel like I'd been a serial killer. But this isn't about me. This is so much bigger than that. It – something happened."

"What?" said Andy, hoping to placate Sid.

"I found Woody and Buzz," said Sid, "and I didn't want to give them back to you at all. I was going to burn them up, like I do – like I did – with toys a lot. But they rallied all of my broken toys together, to 'break the rules' in unison, to show me that toys are alive and scare me straight."

"What – what did they do?" said Andy.

"They came to life in front of my eyes," said Sid. "And they all crawled towards me and told me to stop." Sid had actually memorized the speech Woody gave, but he'd decided it would be creepy to recite it in full. "And I kinda froze up and sat down, and I told them I wouldn't hurt them, and they all went limp again, but I begged them to tell me more. I felt like I was nuts, but eventually I convinced them to actually communicate with me. Say something, Buzz."

"The past twenty four hours have been incredibly stressful for all of us," said Buzz Lightyear – sounding precisely like his VA on the show, Tim Taylor.

"You can talk," said Andy, more quietly than he'd expected.

"Yes, 'Andy', I can talk," said Buzz. Andy's pupils widened.

"Where'd Woody go?" said Andy.

"He stayed inside to relay some messages to the other toys," said Sid. "Telling them they can move around us. We're going to break the masquerade, Andy. I know I'm a child – and you're, like, a baby – but we have to get this done, and done right, because it's going to happen eventually. We can't sit on this secret."

"What are toys?" said Andy. "And how do they work?" Andy conversed with Sid, Buzz, and the others for a couple of hours, learning details about toys' daily lives, life cycles, and such, making sure that all the details were as explicit as possible. Eventually it came time to analyze paths forward.

"So how do we do the most good?" said Sid. Andy took a deep breath.

"Shut down every dump in the world."

* * *

FINALE A: POST OWL

June '93: WE'RE BACK IN BUSINESS! THE QUIBBLER RETURNS UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT! NOW A LEGITIMATE JOURNALISM ENTERPRISE!

CRAZED SLYTHERIN HEIR HARRY "MIGHTY MORFIN" POTTER ATTEMPTS TO DESTROY WORLD IN SNAKEMAGEDDON! FIRST THING ON HIS MIND WHEN HE GETS OUT OF THE HOSPITAL? "BETTER GET IT RIGHT NEXT TIME!"

ARMLESS WOMAN FINDS LOVE WITH NOSELESS MAN! THIS STORY WILL WARM YOUR HEART!

June '94: THE MANCHURIAN METAMORPHMAGUS! THE TRUE STORY OF HOW MORE THAN JUST ONE MARAUDER WAS DARK AS ALL GET OUT! COULD THEY HAVE BEEN A CULT DEVOTED TO THE CREATION OF A COLLECTIVE PHYLACTERY?

LYCANTHROPY IS IN THIS FALL! GET YOURS TODAY AT THE PEVERELL FAMILY HOSPITAL! DON'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES! "END OF ALL EXISTENCE" PROPHECY OVERHEARD BY QUIBBLER STAFF! BET ON PROPHECY PREVENTION RESEARCH TODAY! ANTHROPIC PRINCIPLE SAYS: "IT'S WORTH A SHOT!" 4 OUT OF 4 FUTURE YOUS AGREE!

June '95: TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT ENDING IS LITERALLY MOST IMPORTANT THING GOING ON IN THE WORLD AT THIS MOMENT. PAY NO ATTENTION TO OTHER NEWS STORIES THE MEDIA MACHINE IS TRYING TO SELL YOU!

NEW BABY PANDA AT MUGGLE ZOO IN HONG KONG! EXPERTS HAVE NO IDEA HOW IT GOT THERE!

PUPPIES!

June '96: POTTER GOES ABSOLUTELY NUTS WITH THE MOST CONVOLUTED TIME KNOT EVER! READ OUR EXCLUSIVE BREAKDOWN OF THE COMPLEX LOOPING MANEUVERS USED IN THE GREAT AND BLOODY POLYNOMIAL HEIST! FIND OUT WHO LIVED, WHO DIED! WE TELL THE STORY!

EVIL PEDO GILDEROY LOCKHART BROKEN OUT OF NURMENGARD! WHO WOULD DO SUCH A THING? OUTRAGED PARENTS KEEP THEIR KIDS AT HOME! INSIDE SOURCES SAY LOCKHART HAS BEEN MAGICALLY DISABLED SO HE HAS NO STOMACH FOR EVIL – BUT WHAT ARE THEY HIDING AND WHY?

INSPIRING! TEENAGE GIRL PUTS IN VOLUNTEER WORK IN THE WAR-TORN MAGICAL GREEK ISLES!

June '97: IT'S HAPPENING! THE WILY DR. POTTER PLANS HIS MOST DEVIOUS SECRET PLAN YET! DETAILS INSIDE.

THE MINISTRY IS EMPTY!

FATE OF ALL MEGUCA HANGS IN BALANCE!

* * *

FINALE B: POST HASTE

"_Violencia acabador!"_ cried Luna, creating a colossal explosion behind them that wiped out scores of Inferi. Ginny slammed the door to the Department Of Mysteries shut, and as part of the Department's security procedures, they were both sent flying through conceptual space before finally landing in an alternate version of the rotunda with a scrambled layout. A bare compass needle jumped in Ginny's hand, and she followed it where it led.

"It's through this door," said Ginny. "The Slate Star Codex. An artifact that predates all known wizards, a relic of Atlantis that landed before any of the others. And I have to destroy it. If he figures out how to use it – and I figured out how to use it, so I'm sure he'll have no trouble – he'll make first contact with truly alien civilizations; undoubtedly ones vastly more powerful than wizardkind. What happens after that? There's no way to know. No way at all." Ginny stopped, sniffed the air, and frowned. "He's put up some kind of barrier that will make it very difficult for me to exit the room once I've entered. I have no doubt that he expects to fight me in there. Maybe force me to give up my method; boy, is he going to be disappointed to find out I had myself-"

"-Ginny Weasley, you listen to me right now," protested Luna. "Do you need a lizard man to shout 'IT'S A TRAP' in your face? Here, I'll conjure one. _Expecto patronum!_"

"It's a trap!" said the white, ethereal lizard man, in Luna's voice.

"Don't go in there," said Luna.

"Luna," said Ginny, "I'm not going to save myself at the expense of all of existence. That's just... pointless. Go back in time, Luna. Six turns. We both already know you do. And hey – if I totally screw this up and all existence ends, at least you've got six more hours alive. And that's not enough. But it's something."

Luna pouted, but she finally accepted, wordlessly, that Ginny was right. They kissed, and it reminded them both of the private soul-bonding ceremony they had had earlier that year.

"Come out," said Luna, to no one in particular, and she turned the hourglass hanging from her neck six times. Six hours earlier, she would give her time turner to her past self to use now. It had come from nothing and would return there; it was the most literal physical manifestation of a time loop. Stranger things have happened.

Ginny entered the fateful door and found only pitch blackness.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, hoping to find the Codex. What she illuminated instead was – well-

On the left side of the room was a simple mirror with a golden frame. At its base, it was wrapped in a golden chain Ginny was very familiar with, a chain she had lost some time ago.

On the right side of the room was a simple mirror with a golden frame. At its base, it was wrapped in a golden chain Ginny was very familiar with, a chain she had lost some time ago.

"So that's what he's used the Thing of Things for," muttered Ginny to herself.

"The Band of Ozymandias, yes," said Harry, whose voice caught Ginny off-guard. He appeared behind her, and now there were two parallel infinite lines visible in the mirrors, one line of Harry and one of Ginny. "I can hardly think of any magical artifact that benefits from doubling as much as the Mirror of Noitilov, which is thereby made recursive. Every second I spend in this room generates infinite utility. All I can pursue now are higher infinities. It really helps to put things in perspective for me. What were you doing with the Band? Speeding up construction?"

"So where's the Slate Star Codex, Harry?" said Ginny. She'd run out of patience long ago.

"I don't actually want to call up unknown alien civilizations," said Harry. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Yes," said Ginny. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, I'm not," said Harry. "I just brought it along to lure you here on false pretenses."

"You know I can break these wards in about five minutes, right?" said Ginny.

"Under normal conditions," said Harry. "But I know a little trick I learned from Albus Dumbledore. Have you ever heard of Chang's Process Of The Timeless?"

"You know _Bisector Sortum?_" asked Ginny, horrified. She was only aware of that spell's existence because of the Chamber Of Secrets.

"Thanks," said Harry. "_Bisector Sortum._" A gray beam fired out of his wand, into the left mirror. Harry Potter vanished, and Ginny vanished from the other side of the mirror – each of them was now only present in half of the mirror's infinite set of reflected worlds. Ginny knew at this point that she was probably not going to make it out of the room.

"Why do you want so badly to be my archnemesis?" said Ginny.

"Why do you want so badly to be mine?" said Harry. "You're not. After today you'll be gone, and my story will still be in its prologue. The only person who can threaten me is myself. I'm the greatest wizard of all time and my only enemy is death."

"If you're such a great wizard, why do you spend so much of your time stealing things?" said Ginny. The Thing Of Things, the Slate Star Codex, the Time Cube... if an object was remotely worthwhile, you could be sure Harry intended to make like an RPG protagonist with it. "And who said anything about death?"

"Please, don't get me started," said Harry. "And I steal them because you lot are horrible at using them."

"Using them for what?" said Ginny.

"Doing the most good the most efficiently," said Harry. "That's all I want to do. That's all I stand for."

"Right," said Ginny, "and Draco Malfoy's just a magical realist. ...listen, I got Zabini to talk, and I know you run MagiLeaks; you organized the whole thing. If I disappear-"

"You're an existential threat, Ginny," said Harry.

"I'm a what?" said Ginny, and she actually let out a single uncomfortable laugh. She understood the words, but they were still quite a pronouncement to make, and she had no idea what Harry could be referring to. Harry rose his voice louder than Ginny had often heard it:

"You're smart enough to be dangerous and too stubborn to reason with," Harry projected through the mirror. "It should have become clear to me when you refused the promise of the basilisks, but I put it off. I tried to undermine you instead of going for the throat."

"So you're just going to trap me, probably forever?" said Ginny. "Basically just killing me? Why all the drama? You've killed so many people without flinching."

"Oh, have I?" said Harry. "Like Colin, today."

"Yes," said Ginny, and she held her tears in, but then Colin fell out of Harry's bag – quite alive, though he'd been temporarily and involuntarily transfigured into a fox. "...what?"

"It's all been a ruse," said Harry. "I've never killed anyone, and I've only ever pretended to if I felt I had to make a strong impression on someone, to show them I mean business. Apparently that wasn't enough for you, Ginny. So if you ever want to see the outside of this room, Ginny, then Colin will be overseeing a brief Unspeakable Vow. Yes, I can save us all from the Process Of The Timeless. I can redirect it towards this side of the mirror, and hide Colin and myself under the True Cloak of Invisiblity."

"Oh, really?" said Ginny. "What's the Vow? Hang in there, Colin."

"What I have to do, one way or another, is make you noncanon," said Harry. Ginny snorted. "No, take this seriously. You will have no loyalty to God. You will not profess belief in the existence of God. If you learn of evidence that God exists, you will ignore it. If God seems to require your assistance, you will not provide it."

"Hmm," said Ginny, dripping sarcasm like a deep fat fryer. "No. Well, as long as you're killing me, I have some questions. Why do you consider me an existential threat?"

"I'm not an idiot dark lord, Ginny," said Harry. "I'm not going to tell you all of my secrets just because I don't expect you to be able to do anything about them. I can at least learn from my own mistakes."

"Hermione wouldn't like what you're doing," said Ginny, but it wasn't a plea – just a firm condemnation.

"Hermione failed me," said Harry, "and if you think I care about her opinion now, you've modeled me poorly."

"I wonder where you put her, if you didn't kill her," said Ginny, and she shot Harry a look. "Maybe I should have killed you at some point. Forgive me." Ginny kneeled down as angular white fish began swimming around her side of the mirror, filling the room with a buzzing noise and -

* * *

FINALE C: POST MORTEM

The room's atmosphere had returned to a calm, but Harry and Colin were nowhere to be found. On the opposite side of the mirror from Ginny, there was an older wizard, one she recognized from many photographs, portraits, and even illustrations – Albus Dumbledore.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "This must be quite a shock."

"Albus Dumbledore," Ginny muttered in awe. "You were trapped in the mirror, too! Is that why I'm seeing you?"

"One of the reasons. I'm afraid 'Harry' succeeded in banishing you from his sight."

"Is there any way for me to go back, now?" said Ginny, but she was already getting the sinking feeling that if there was, Dumbledore wouldn't have been absent from the world for five years.

"No," said Dumbledore. "There is no way back to the mortal coil, from outside of time. Not even a particularly tedious combination of the Philosopher's Stone and the Well of Time can restore us. We are deader than most can aspire to be."

"Huh," said Ginny. After considering this for a while, she'd formulated a question: "So, is this a magical illusion, or-"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. The glass between them disappeared. Dumbledore extended his hand to Ginny, and she took it.

"I can't feel any magic," said Ginny, careful to avoid the tone of a complaint. "And my wand's disappeared from my robes."

"Where we're going, we won't need wands to spell," said Dumbledore, and Ginny followed him out of the room, into a white, angelic version of the Department of Mysteries. Ginny was too awestruck to comment on it. "Through this door," he said, and pointed. "Chance." Ginny entered.

There were dozens of images of Luna here, none of them aware of each other, or Ginny or Dumbledore, or perhaps even their environment. They faded in and out of visibility too quickly to keep track of any one of them for very long. All of them were obviously depressed; many had completely broken down crying. One solemnly sent up red fireworks.

"You truly cared for this girl, I take it?" said Dumbledore. He clapped his hands and the images disappeared.

"Yes," said Ginny.

"She truly cares for you," said Dumbledore. "In many futures, after your death, she goes on to lead the Church in your name. She becomes one of the enemies Harry fears the most."

"Wait," said Ginny. "Many futures? The power of Bayes is real? I thought it was just a useful method for thinking about things statistically."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "That's the great lost secret of chance, that Harry stumbled upon but failed to realize the true implications of. The multiple universes formed after every probabilistic event are a literal physical reality – and everything is made of constantly occurring probabilistic events. The number of different universes in which you exist is too large for you to truly understand in your current form. But the celestial is deterministic." Ginny blinked and tried to take this all in.

"But what about Time-Turners and prophecies?" said Ginny.

"They merely squeeze probability," said Dumbledore, "forcing certain events that would otherwise be unlikely to be nearly certain. Now, come with me to the Time room." Ginny followed Dumbledore, in the longest and shortest walk of her life, across the white rotunda into another room, where she was looking down a vast well with no end in sight – the legendary Well of Time.

"The Well of Time," began Dumbledore, "is, as you know, conic – though it is so deep and so thin that this is hard to see. The conic nature of the Well of Time is a useful teaching tool – as time really does grow wider as it goes on. But because of the extreme nature of the universes' multitudes, time actually grows wider with each instant as a hyperbolic cone does – which is to say, exponentially." The room, and Ginny's mode of perception, suddenly warped, and she could see the entire Well of Time – which was not an infinitely tall cylindrical cavity, nor a large conical cavity, but a vast, strangely-curved cavity for an impossibly wide tree. Most of the volume was concentrated incredibly close to the top – and that would have been true no matter where you cut the top of the function off.

"In a lifetime, we humans only experience one outcome," said Dumbledore. "But that is not all that there is. All outcomes occur, and we truly experience all outcomes. Humans are not timelines, Ginny, but probability trees. Our perception that we are timelines is an illusion, an illusion that defines our time in life."

"What a sickly tree that is," said Dumbledore, gesturing with disgust towards a human embryo floating in space, which, before Ginny's eyes, phased itself into a tree made of worms made of human forms, which grew upwards, futurewards. "Its root is in 1926, and oftentimes it's still causing problems more than seventy years later. Rarely is it ever redeemed. It is addled by its role in fate – as you are privileged by yours, Third Seventh Son." Ginny flushed a deep red, and she acknowledged to herself that her virtues were largely accidents of birth and hence scarcely praiseworthy.

"Why did he kill me?" said Ginny. She quickly added: "This time?"

"Well, to begin with, he hated you," said Dumbledore. "That's why he went to such lengths to spite you. That's why he publicized your most embarrassing and sensitive secrets, with gleeful knowledge that it would send murderous agents of the fallen advocate Gabriel after you. He hated you because of the opposition between your role in fate and his. But he also feared you, and there's a much more concrete reason for that. He feared you, and the entire Church, because he learned that God existed, and that foul wizards with enchanted iron chariots had trapped Him and disempowered Him, thousands of years ago. He feared what you, and the Church, would do if you found out He was being kept in the Department of Mysteries. Most of all, he feared what God would do if He were reempowered. His efforts were all for nothing, though, because in all timelines, God is eventually freed and restored to His full power. And do you know what he does immediately, every single time?"

"What?" said Ginny; her voice had gone soft.

"He forgives everyone," said Dumbledore, in a bizarrely threatening tone. Suddenly, Ginny was standing in a different room, looking at a great stone portal with a cloth curtain hanging down from it.

"Not that it matters," said Dumbledore, though Ginny could no longer see him, "because even Harry Potter is redeemed on occasion. Everyone is, and that's all that matters. Because as long as you're redeemed at least once, in at least one timeline... well, on death, when we exit conventional reality, we all need to be translated into a celestial form – a deterministic form. We come to understand each and every one of our alternate selves, and so we become them. All of our selves converge through that long learning process into a single, final self. If any one of us accepts redemption, they have accepted redemption for all of us. If any one of us has found the truth, that truth will spread to all of us. There is a Hell, Ginny, or at least a Purgatory, and it's the sensation that you should have done better because you now know that you could have done better. But it fades when you become the same individual who did do better – and the same individual who did worse still. We all eventually pull out to become our full lifetime probability distribution. And then we have the rest of eternity to be perfect."

Ginny stepped forward through the Veil, all of her anxiety flowing away.

"Welcome to the next great adventure, Mr. Weasley."


End file.
